The Fourteenth Apostle
by Hane no Zaia
Summary: Slightly AU. Before he was Allen Walker, he was simply Red. A distrustful, realistic and cynical opportunist. A survivor. Holding the power to either make or break the world, will he take his rightful place in the war or simply stay out of it?
1. The First Testament

_Disclaimer: Obviously, I do not own DGM – which is a pity, truly._

**- o0o -**

**The First Testament**

**The Clown and the Dog**

**- o0o -**

Red. That had been his name for as far as he could remember. Robin too on occasion, but he always liked Red better; Robin sounded like a girl's name.

Red, because of his deformed left hand, scaly and red, imbedded with a glowing green cross which he hid beneath gloves and long sleeves more often than not.

Red, like his hair, which was a reddish brown, yet so dirty at times that it seemed to be the colour of mud.

His eyes, a stormy grey with a hint of silver in them, were cold as they calmly observed the world around them, memorising what seemed even remotely important and forgetting the rest.

At one point in time, his eyes had been just like those seen in other children his age, like the ones who were taken for a visit to the circus, brought there by their parents, eyes twinkling with delight over all the magical and mysterious and utterly fantastic things they saw while in there, some of them even dreaming of staying there and joining the circus to experience that kind of magic each and every day.

There was no magic.

Red threw another freshly peeled potato in the water bucket with the rest.

**- o0o -**

Red was by no means bitter, not in the slightest actually; he was merely realistic, and a bit cynical yes, but if someone who had lived a life like his actually turned out an optimist then Red would have been fully content to go and label the other person mentally retarded, before going off to drown himself.

It was just too bad he was such a great swimmer.

Abandoned at an early age, thrown away like garbage by his biological parents simply because they couldn't bear looking at his so called "deformity", Red had ended up in a London orphanage driven by the Church, though he certainly didn't stay there for long, mostly because the nuns had this peculiar idea that he was possessed by the Devil and needed to undergo an exorcism once a week or so.

It was following that very uncomfortable and pretty miserable experience that Red concluded that if God really did exist, he was a sadistic and twisted bastard who should be avoided as much as humanly possible. This conclusion also applied to anyone who proclaimed themselves messengers of said sadistic and twisted bastard or to people who claimed to be doing said bastard's work.

Red didn't like people; people were deceitful and trusting them could very well equal suicide in his case. He trusted himself and himself alone, and had good manners only when it suited him, that is, not very often. Potential provocations were answered with hits, kicks and bites and he cursed people who bothered him on a regular basis. He was a decent fighter, for a person of his size at least, but that wasn't to say that he didn't take a hit every now and then, at times when he wasn't quick enough. That lousy performer Cosimo in particular liked to seek him out to 'teach him a lesson' whenever the man had gotten some alcohol in his system and in time, courtesy of a fair number of beatings, Red came to develop an intense feeling of dislike towards the man. It was not hatred per se, but rather a very distinctive dislike, in a "hating-you-is-way-too-bothersome-so-I-will-just-dance-on-top-of-your-grave-when-you-finally-keel-over" kind of way.

Intense emotions were a bother; they were hurtful and he didn't exactly enjoy being in pain and if he could avoid it then why bother with feelings in the first place?

But really, if he was still around by the time Cosimo finally perished, he would almost definitely do it. Dance on top of his grave, that is.

**- o0o -**

Mana Walker was a strange prick in Red's world.

The clown had come to the circus pretty recently along with his dog, Allen, and stayed there since. They performed tricks together and were quite good, at entertaining the audience at least and in the end that was really all that mattered.

Mana Walker was quite unlike any other person, at the circus or otherwise, that Red had met. First of all, it was blatantly obvious to anyone with even half a brain that the man was not completely sane. With the whole clown getup and all, it was quite difficult to tell exactly how mentally unstable the man was, and as such, Red made good measure to stay away from him as much as possible.

His dog however was pretty nice, as nice as any dog could be, Red supposed.

**- o0o -**

Dogs were honest, not particularly clever, but honest. They did not deceive others and were completely honest with their feelings. Were they scared or provoked, they either bit or ran, just like Red himself, and that may have been one of the reasons as to why Red found himself relating to them.

There was one thing however, that dogs had which he certainly didn't have, and that was unwavering loyalty for the people they viewed as their masters.

Red had no master and he had no owner, regardless of the illusions held by the ringmaster of the circus. Then again, Red himself was probably pretty unimportant; he was just another waif that had appeared before him, searching for a job – any job – regardless of the meagre wages. Any waifs that weren't desperate enough or merely unsuited for acts such as thievery or selling their bodies on the street eventually ended up looking for a job at a circus, to the extent of Red's knowledge at least.

Red himself was a bit of everything. Certainly, with his abnormal arm and all, he was labelled as a freak and probably belonged with the circus, but then again, there was a bit more to him that that. Thievery certainly wasn't below him; he just did it at times when there was the least risk of him getting caught. Prostitution however was an area he held no intent whatsoever in ever treading into. Even though he was young, Red knew what eventually happened to those that went down that road, just as he knew that very few ever turned up to tell the tale.

In any case, Red did not consider himself a dog which could be collared and simply be expected to obey whichever commands were issued by whoever held the leash; if anything, then he was a cat – a stray – which kept to whoever fed him and on occasion lowered himself to perform tricks to attain more food. Indeed, he was definitely a cat and a fairly wild one at that which hissed, clawed and bit just about anyone who came too close with dubious intentions. It was simply too bad that his meagre body was insufficient and dreadfully so, because no matter how much of a fighter he was, he usually ended up being beaten in the face of bigger and stronger opponents if he was not quick enough in his retreat.

Red hissed in pain when he tried to use both his legs to support himself as the world tilted dangerously in his vision. He soon grew to favour his right leg as he got a move on, limping heavily but hiding it well as he made his way out of there.

Cosimo had gotten him good again.

There wouldn't be a next time.

**- o0o -**

On a late December morning, one he would later recall as one of the days surrounding Christmas Day, a clown sat hunched next to a leafless tree, digging a hole in the ground. Once finished, the bruised body – or carcass or whatever – of Allen the Dog was gently laid to rest within it.

"Is he dead?" Red asked, even though it was all quite obvious and his question was far more rhetorical than anything else.

The clown turned around and he found himself averting his eyes, trying to look inconspicuous or something. Red really wondered why he bothered in the first place; he really hated clowns.

"He's dead," the clown eventually confirmed, looking down at the dog down in the pit.

"He's covered in bruises," Red said, once again pointing out the obvious rather than trying to get personal. This was just small talk; it held no meaning other than to keep an uncomfortable silence at bay. When there was no reply from the other he was forced to continue, once again by pointing out things that were so obvious to him that they were on par with the sky being blue and grass being green.

"Cosimo probably did it," he said, voice flat. "…Because the audience likes you more than him. He hates that, when people are better than him. He's got no talent, except when it comes to things like this."

There was a brief pause as the clown started filling the makeshift grave with soil, covering the carcass entirely before patting the pile almost affectionately before placing a small star-patterned ball on top of the now covered grave. "He was an old dog," he said, brushing the dirt from his palms. "He wouldn't have lived for much longer anyway, so it's alright."

Red let out a thoughtful hum. Then, he huffed. "You're not getting revenge?"

The clown merely clapped his hands together in what could be seen as a mockery of a prayer before answering him in a light-hearted tone of voice. "If I do that, I'll get thrown out of here and won't get paid," he said, still wearing that false clown smile on his face. "I'm a newcomer after all… After tomorrow I'll head somewhere new…"

"I see," Red said. It was a sound reasoning, he had give it that much, even if it annoyed the Hell out of him for some reason.

Next to him, the clown made a thoughtful sound. "So, who are you anyway?"

"I do odd jobs around here. I brought you food the other day," Red responded, deliberately forgetting to offer his name.

"I have a bad memory for faces," the clown responded.

Red let out a slight huff out of irritation. How long would this absolutely pointless conversation drag on?

"Oh my!" the clown suddenly exclaimed. "You're covered in bruises too, aren't you?"

Said deranged clown then proceeded to lick his finger and smear it onto Red's cheek, something which Red obviously protested against.

"Gross," he stated, wiping it off of his cheek with his sleeve while scooting away from the deranged spit-smearing maniac of a clown that was in his immediate vicinity.

"It's disinfectant," said clown offered as an explanation.

Red huffed indignantly. "If I wanted to disinfect my wounds, I would've done so myself; being smeared with old-man spit is gross…"

"Did Cosimo beat you up?" the clown asked, not paying any attention to his earlier insult.

"Shut up," Red responded, still fervently wiping the spit off his face.

"Don't you have any friends?" the clown went on, seemingly oblivious to his growing irritation.

For some reason, Red wanted to hit this man – to hit him hard and to hit him repeatedly. He honestly couldn't figure out why he even bothered answering him in the first place. "When I grow up… I'm getting out of here as soon as I'm strong enough, so I don't need friends," he eventually responded, looking at the ground when he did so.

And then, the clown resorted to clowning around in an attempt to cheer him up, making grimaces and stuff.

Red found himself wanting to hit him again.

**- o0o -**

"_I hate clowns."_

"_Well, I hate crowds and children who don't laugh."_

**- o0o -**

"_Aren't you gonna cry?"_

**- o0o -**

"_He lived with you for a long time, didn't he?"_

**- o0o -**

"_Aren't you sad?"_

**- o0o -**

"_I'm so sad I could die."_

**- o0o -**

"_But I can't cry."_

**- o0o -**

"_Maybe my tears have dried up."_

**- o0o -**

"_They just won't come."_

**- o0o -**

Silver-grey eyes watched the man with a kind of dull disinterest bordering on interest.

Red really didn't understand humans.

**- o0o -**

"_What's up with that?"_

**- o0o -**

"_What was his name?"_

**- o0o -**

"_He licked my hand yesterday. His tongue was warm."_

**- o0o -**

He was staring down at the makeshift grave, the pile of dirt and the ball lying on top of it.

Such useless gestures they were; it wasn't like the dog needed that ball in the afterlife anyway, right?

Humans and their strange sentimental gestures…

Something wet trickled down his cheek, but his overall facial expression didn't change.

**- o0o -**

_How come… I'm the one crying?_

**- o0o -**


	2. The Second Testament

…

**- o0o -**

**The Second Testament**

**The Boy and the Earl**

**- o0o -**

Until the very day Red became Allen, he had asked himself why he had chosen to follow the clown – the obviously insane Mana Walker – on that day, Christmas Day or whatever, allowing himself to be carried off on the other's back. Maybe it was because he had seen an opportunity to get away from the circus and had taken it without taking all the consequences into careful consideration, or maybe it was simply due to him wanting to go off somewhere, maybe to see the world, before his life came to an end – likely an untimely one – in a dark damp back alley somewhere.

Either way, regardless of his reasons for tagging along, Allen's general opinion of the man behind the clown face – the broken man by the name of Mana Walker – hadn't changed much. Even though he did feel a certain degree of attachment to the man – his adoptive-father-gone-bonkers – it was only so-so in his world. On the other hand, he did find himself caring about Mana way more than he had ever cared for another human being, that is to say not much in general.

For being a crazy person, Mana was okay. Besides, it would've been kind of hard for Allen to dislike him when being showered with this strange thing, platonic love or whatever, and his childlike love-starved self really couldn't reject it all. Still, he was well aware of the fact that most of that love didn't belong to him anyway; it wasn't meant for him but rather for someone else. As for how he knew that, Allen prided himself as being fairly good at reading people; such a skill was quite useful in telling him when to fight head on and when to get the Hell out of somewhere, that is, when he could win and when he could die.

Mana's love didn't belong to him – for the most part at least – and he accepted that; it wasn't like he had actually done anything to deserve it either, not in his own opinion at least, so it was alright.

Even so, they got along fairly well, doing odd jobs together to make ends meet and staying in rundown inns or sleeping under bridges when finances ran low. They were a drifting pair, rarely staying more than a week in the same place and constantly on the move, travelling. They were Walkers, constantly walking and never stopping.

_Keep walking, keep walking. _Mana's mantra, repeated over and over.

_Don't stop. Keep walking. _Mana's words, echoing in his head as clearly as when they were first spoken, emerging from his mouth as he sat on top of a newly filled grave within a graveyard somewhere in England, in the outskirts of a city which name he had forgotten, where he leaned his back against the simple cross which had been put into the ground behind him.

Allen stared, overlooking the dreary scenery around him with a certain amount of distaste gracing his features.

Approximately six feet under lay the abandoned shell of his adoptive father – Mana Walker – a man of a fragile sanity and general foolishness, of a man who had saved his life by pushing him out of the way of a carriage, even though Allen himself could very well have made it out of there on his own. A foolish man, a broken man, a fatherly man, a good man and a dead man, and it was that last one which made all the difference.

"Keep walking, huh?" he said out loud, speaking to no one in particular. "But where should I go?"

He couldn't remember exactly how old he was, but he was probably not even in his early teens yet and as such his options were quite limited. His monetary resources were pretty much nonexistent after Mana's burial and he now pretty much only owned the clothes on his back and – ironically enough – Mana's top hat, which he stuck on top of his head simply because he had always wanted to try wearing it once. It wasn't like he had wanted to become like Mana and he sure as Hell wasn't going to try to become like Mana now; a Walker or not, he had taken the name of Mana's dog and not of Mana himself.

A chuckle brought him back from his musings and he looked up, tilting the top hat back so that the brim of it didn't completely obscure the view he had of the person – thing, whatever – looming over him.

"Good evening~"

This man, thing or whatever he was, was crazy. Allen could see it clearly, the insanity that shone in the other's eyes, partially obscured by a pair of round glasses but still as clear as day. The insanely wide grin which was plastered on the other's face did offer a fair hint as to the man's general mental condition as well.

Allen merely stared up at him, his silver-grey eyes cold and impassive. "Good evening," he finally greeted, calmly, sitting up a bit straighter as he did so.

Although the man showed no outward reaction to his seeming lack of distraught demeanour, Allen could still tell that he was surprised.

**- o0o -**

"Do you want me to revive Mana Walker?"

Allen merely raised an eyebrow in response, eyes resting on the man's rather eccentric clothing and accessories for a couple of moments before returning to the activity of staring impassively at said man's still grinning face.

Then, he opened his mouth to speak, letting out a clear and definite answer to the man's question. "No."

Light snow started falling upon them.

**- o0o -**

Not even when the odd-looking fatso pulled out a black-looking skeleton-like doll did he change his answer, taking one look at the thing before turning back to the strange man and repeating his earlier answer. "No."

The man, who would later become known to him as "the Earl", eyed him curiously, even though Allen could still see the sinister madness playing in the other's eyes. The Earl tilted his head to the side, twirling his folded umbrella around, the grin ever-present on his face. "Why not, pray tell?"

Allen reached up and pulled the hat off of his head as he stood up, gingerly placing it on top of the cross when he did so. "Mana always told me that the dead should be left to rest in peace," he replied with a casual shrug, although Mana really hadn't told him anything of the sort; Allen simply put it that way because it sounded better than saying that he himself had made it all up on the spot.

"Besides," he continued, just as indifferently. "Mana's dead and his body – his former container – rests beneath my feet. I don't know what that doll like thing of yours is, but the feeling it gives off makes me sick to my stomach. I kind of get the feeling that it's about to eat me and wear my skin or something…"

The Earl's eyes continued to rest upon him. "What is your name, boy?"

"Allen… Allen Walker," he responded, shrugging.

"Walker?" the Earl repeated, tilting his head to the side. "That bastard had children?"

Allen smiled wryly at this, shooting the other an excruciatingly fake grin. "Nope, I'm just some circus freak he picked up as a replacement because his dog died," he cheerfully responded. "I'm named after him too, the dog," he then swiftly added without skipping a beat.

The truth could go and screw itself over, Allen decided. Honesty had never really gotten him anywhere in life so what was wrong with bending the truth a little? Or a lot?

The Earl continued watching him with interest, eyes slowly coming to rest on his presumably pathetic body, dressed up in worn clothes that were too big for him but quite comfy even so and warm in the winter.

Silver-grey eyes looked up, unusually radiant as they bored themselves into the Earl's amber-coloured ones, calmly calculating meeting equally calculating ones.

"Now," Allen finally said. "Unless you have any further business with me, I will be taking my leave; my meal ticket's gone, so I need to find myself some work again and I know just where to look for it. If it's Mana you want to have a chat with, then you may call him back yourself if you so wish-…"

A heavy hand landed on top of his head. Allen looked up, clearly surprised, and his feeling of surprise only increased when his gloved hand – the right one – was grabbed and a handful of coins was deposited into it. His fingers closed around them on sheer instinct and when he looked up again the Earl was gone and he had apparently taken that creepy skeleton thing with him. Releasing a breath he didn't know he had been holding, Allen went back to staring at the coins in his hand. A quick mental count revealed that it was well more than he needed to travel where he was going, and he tilted his head to the side, contemplating his options. _I wonder…_

**- o0o -**

The throwing knives had weighed heavily in hid hands the first times he had used them, but gradually, he grew used to their weight. It took some work initially, but after finding the right technique, his aim got much better.

He had had enough of clowning around and in order to make up for it, he needed another skill; throwing around dangerous pointy objects did seem like a decent start and it took much less concentration on his part than juggling had.

He had gone back to the circus, the same one he had been with before he had met Mana, and with his newly acquired skill with throwing knives and acrobatics in general, he was welcomed back with open arms, or just welcomed, as they didn't seem to recognise him and that was might as well, Allen supposed.

He had changed; he had grown older and likely also colder, but what really had changed was his outward appearance. In the week following Mana's death and his meeting with the Earl, his hair had simply started turning stark white on its own accord; it had probably been due to shock, although he could not recall ever having felt any, or just simply due to unconscious stress or possibly a combination of both. Either way, it made him look like an old man from a distance. "Geez," he had at some point found himself saying, leaning out over the edge of a small pond, looking at his own reflection to find out what all the fuss was all about. "As if I wasn't enough of a freak already…"

**- o0o -**

Cosimo – the drunk and violent bastard who had killed Allen's namesake – died a fairly swift but not at all painless death. His body was never found and most would later on agree that he'd had it coming for a long time, but Allen would merely shrug and continue polishing his knives with seeming disinterest.

It wasn't like Cosimo would be missed by anyone anyway; it was quite the opposite actually. Besides, dead men told no tales and neither did Cosimo once he had sunken to his watery grave.

It was a pity really, in Allen's opinion at least, that he wouldn't be able to dance on top of the other's grave; at least he wouldn't unless he somehow managed to learn how to walk on water.

**- o0o -**

Years came and went, but overall he remained the same. He still didn't really understand humans and the ways they acted, but he despised them somewhat less now. He never reflected on why he had started despising them to begin with.

**- o0o -**

With keys as white as ivory and smaller keys as black as ebony, a piano appeared one day at the circus, accompanying a disheartened young musician who had given up on life and music alike, but being too much of a coward to take his own life, he had gone on a soul-searching journey and ended up where he had, at the circus.

Overall, Allen paid the man very little heed, but the instrument he had brought along on the other hand fascinated him. It felt… familiar somehow, although he was pretty damn sure he had never touched and even less played one.

An odd feeling of curiosity came over him, like a childish impulse which would not stay suppressed for long. Lifting the lid off the black and white keys, he then sat down, mesmerised almost, and experimentally pressed down one key, and then another. Then, he positioned his hands, letting them hover slightly above the keys before pressing down, and soon a melody rose from the instrument, a melody so familiar yet so foreign, as his fingers moved almost as if guided by a divine force. Divine or demonic, he cared very little which as hauntingly beautiful music was brought into existence and floated along the airwaves around him, until a sudden gasp out of surprise that brought him out of his stupor and he turned around, spotting the musician standing at the tent entrance wearing an utterly shocked and absolutely baffled expression. Sensing it was time to leave, Allen calmly placed the lid back on the keys and easily slid out of his seat and passed by the person standing at the entrance, keeping his silence and indifference when he did so.

It was only later, when he had made it well out of view, that something wet started running down his cheeks. Wiping them with the back of his hand he stared at them, mystified. _Red?_

**- o0o -**


	3. The Third Testament

…

**- o0o -**

**The Third Testament**

**The Mark and the Mask**

**- o0o -**

"_Don't stop. Keep walking."_

**- o0o -**

Allen raised his head, staring into the mirror before him, taking in the unnatural paleness of his skin, his face, his being. Somehow, he felt as though there was something missing, something vital.

Messy white hair. Uncombed.

White skin. Pale.

Stormy grey eyes glimmering slightly as they reflected the light of the candle which stood next to the mirror.

There were dark circles under his eyes. He looked like he had not slept for days; it was not very far from the truth, as his sleep had been unusually restless as of late, and he had found himself dreaming to the very extent that the dreams themselves had started seeping into him during times of wakefulness, weaving illusions around him and obscuring his view of the world, making it difficult to concentrate.

It was always a similar dream – a nightmare – in which he was slowly being pulled under, drowning, staring up at the shining crescent moon as he sank deeper into the water, feeling the burning of his oxygen-deprived lungs and the increasing numbness of his limbs before closing his eyes and when he snapped them open again he was back in the real world, bathing in cold sweat and breathing heavily, as if having been choked.

The dreams were getting increasingly vivid, and with all truthfulness, Allen found himself wondering how much more he would be able to take. The mere thought of it, the thought of him breaking due to some persistent nightmare, almost made him laugh.

He looked into the mirror again, tracing a finger down along the left side of his face.

Cosimo.

The abusive drunkard of a clown had always worn white, ironically enough, and always had a red star painted on the left side of his face.

His voice, cold and malicious.

Allen smiles, maliciously, at the memory of drowning the bastard once and for all, but his smile fades swiftly and when he looks up again, he is unsmiling. Glancing at his deformed arm, he silently notes that it has become a lot more movable now compared to earlier, something which was probably the reason as to why he had succeeded.

Cosimo liked to hit him, liked to kick him. No one cared. The Ringmaster was a greedy bastard who cared little for the strays he took in, or 'bought' as he saw it.

But that was Red, the redheaded stray with a deformed left arm and no tricks worth mentioning. Allen's hair was white and his aim was true, and his tricks and skills were well enough to get him a reasonably comfortable place in the circus hierarchy. No one ever really saw the connection, and it was unlikely that anyone ever would, unless someone caught a glimpse of his arm. It had worked so far, and since few had paid much attention to him back then, it was pretty unlikely.

Cosimo had, however, recognised him, though only at the very last few moments of his life. Had he been able to, he would have cursed him; Allen had little doubt about that.

Allen glanced at his reflection again. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out a small package and opened it, staring at the item which lay within it. Then, he put it away with a sigh and looked back into the mirror, studying the dark circles beneath his eyes once more.

**- o0o -**

"_It's beautiful."_

**- o0o -**

He lay on his back, staring up at the stars. He couldn't sleep anyway, so he reasoned that he might as well look at something other than the tent ceiling.

Allen found himself thinking about Mana. The man had always had this weird obsession about so called 'beautiful things', mumbling something about wanting a beautiful world and whatnot. Allen had never really paid too much attention to the matter, seeing that he was busy pondering the man's insanity and what could possibly have caused it. Something had broken him once, that much was pretty obvious, but what?

**- o0o -**

"_My brother was taken from me. I must find him."_

**- o0o -**

_A brother?_

Allen sat himself up.

Mana had been having an episode then, acting like a child and babbling about his brother and akuma and the Millennium Earl and about tragedies and whatnots. It had not really made much sense to him at the time and it did not really make much sense to him then either, so he generally wasted very little time and thought on it.

**- o0o -**

"_Tragedy… will attract the Earl."_

**- o0o -**

"The Earl." Allen found himself speaking the name, or title perhaps, out loud. The eccentric grinning umbrella-twirling man in a top hat and a thick coat came to mind, but he shrugged it off. It didn't matter who the Earl was; it was all a madman's ramblings, and if it wasn't, it was still none of his business. Probably.

He got to his feet.

**- o0o -**

Allen was different from Red in certain aspects, but in a way he remained unchanged.

The fact that he was not worthless anymore did not mean that he was valued very highly for his skills, just like the fact that he was skilful did not mean that he was particularly well-liked.

Envy was an ugly emotion, Allen thought. People who were displeased at being bested by others grew ugly and vengeful, making use of underhanded methods to prove themselves better, when all they really did was prove that without their brutality, they were nothing, just like Cosimo had, numerous times even.

And so, Allen kept his eyes open, keeping an eye out for the leering eyes that followed him on occasion when he walked through the camp area and through the tents. Like vultures they lay in wait for him, waiting for a moment's weakness to exploit, for a moment of inattention on his part which could very well prove to be fatal. Accidents happened after all, especially in a place like this.

It was just too bad for them that Allen could make them happen too if he wanted. Accidents.

Underhanded means were not beyond him, but he utilised them not for reasons such as envy, but rather as a mean of self-defence. It was how the saying went, was it not, that attack was the best defence?

Allen's namesake, Allen the Dog, died simply because he was just that, a tamed beast which regarded humans as an extension of its flock. It had certainly retained some of its survival instincts at least, considering the fact that Allen the Dog had bitten Cosimo's hand. It was just too bad that it had not gone for the throat back then, as it would have been the more sensible and instinctively correct choice when an agitated drunkard were trying to bludgeon you to the death. Then again, who was Allen – the human – to pass judgment? He himself had bitten Cosimo on occasion, though only to get the man to let go of him for long enough for him to make a getaway.

Running away may not have been the most courageous thing to do, but if courage was the same as being a stubborn idiot and staying and getting himself killed, Allen would rather be accused of cowardice than try to display his courage for all the world to see. If courage and foolishness was the same, then Allen would rather not be a fool if he could avoid it.

**- o0o -**

Fools they were, the clowns he met. Men with colourful costumes, odd hats, red noses, painted faces and wide mouth that rather grimaced or produced some mockery of an actual grin than the real thing. If they truly only existed to make others laugh, Allen wondered whether people were truly laughing out of joy or just because they enjoyed watching grown men wearing costumes and makeup running around, making a fool of themselves.

Allen didn't hate clowns; he just despised their very existence.

Even worse, when he stared into the mirror after a performance and saw his own painted face staring back at him, he found himself despising his own existence. At least he was not a foolish clown, but rather the one throwing knives at the others, silently wishing his aim would be off just a bit and hit them just to see the pain and the fear spread across their faces.

They had mocked him earlier on, especially at the beginning, and he had never been much for the forgive-and-forget part; he had a good memory and mockery of his person – of his skills - was nothing he tolerated for long.

Allen had no idea how old he was, but if he would wager a guess he would have said he was somewhere around twelve or maybe thirteen years old. His age however was of little consequence to him; he had other matters to be more concerned about.

It was gradual overall, the change, but he began to notice it more and more as time went on and he did not like it. All while the dreams kept him awake at night, he found himself feeling more and more paranoid, looking over his shoulder as he saw shadows play in the corner of his eye. Eventually, one day when he stood there in front of the mirror, removing the stage makeup after the last performance they would have in the area, he suddenly knew what had evaded him for so long, the missing piece to the face of Allen Walker.

He glanced at his reflection again before reaching into his pocket, pulling out a small package and staring at the item which lay within it.

A scalpel. He picked it up and twirled it experimentally between his fingers before gripping it tight, his grip steady. He knew nothing of rituals, nothing of how to put restless spirits and memories to rest, but somehow, he had a feeling.

His visage, it had seemed so empty before, so incomplete, an empty canvas hidden behind a curtain of white, unblemished skin seemingly uncarved by the harsh reality in which he had lived.

_Don't stop,_ Allen silently repeated. _"Keep walking."_

Stormy grey eyes met an identical pair in the mirror. _I carve my own path, I shape my own fate._

He brought the tip down onto the left part of his forehead, repainting the star he remembered in crimson all while droplets of blood trickled down his brow, running over his eyelid and further down onto his cheek.

A faint smile appeared on his lips at the sight and he almost stopped for a second, simply to admire the patterns he had drawn on his skin. Carved into his forehead was an inverted pentagram pointing downwards, connected to a thin red line which went downwards over his eyelid and cheek before ending in a vague zigzag-like motion, almost reminiscent of a lightning bolt.

Putting the scalpel down and wiping the blood away, Allen could not help but think that it was entirely possible that he might have become as much of a madman as Mana had been with himself none the wiser. But, he mused, even if it was so he still felt a lot better now, a lot more complete now than before, when he looked at the still bleeding pattern he had cut into the left part of his face. He could tell even now that it would scar even when it had healed, and for some reason this assured him, as if the scar itself was a proof of something important.

He had no more dreams after that night.

**- o0o -**

He had his scar now, another imperfection which completed the image he wanted to shape of himself both in his own eyes and in the eyes of others.

He wore masks now more often than he wore an excessive amount of makeup, seeing that the Ringmaster thought it made him seem more alluring and mysterious when he wore masks and cloaks on stage. Allen on his end paid him little heed overall, and only started listening for real when the man, so lost in greed and the belief of his own infallibility, started talking about choosing a stage name for him.

His hands were busy shuffling the cards of a deck he had found. It wasn't even a complete deck, but he rarely got around to play any games with the others so it didn't matter as long as they could keep his hands busy. _A stage name, huh?_

His hands stilled for a moment before he absentmindedly pulled a card, holding it up before his own eyes to see what it was. A funnily dressed man grinned back at him and he tilted his head slightly to the side. _Joker._

**- o0o -**

Most humans wanted to leave some sort of mark into the world, to leave something behind to be remembered by, to be immortalised. Others however, forever wished to remain anonymous, to fade into obscurity and leave no traces in history.

Allen himself had yet to decide whether he wanted the former or the latter.

After all, why make a mark in history when for him, there was no one to be remembered by?

History would not remember Red, the stray that became Allen Walker, and only time would tell if history would remember Allen, the young teen who became known as the Joker.

It was a terribly ironic name, for him at least, and he had this very distinct feeling that it would somehow stick with him forever, whether he liked it or not.

**- o0o -**

Life at the circus was one in motion and they rarely stayed in one place for long. As such, it was inevitable that people came and went, some of them returning while others did not. It was also inevitable for them to encounter strangers. Some of them made him quite uneasy, restless even, as there was a tingle in his left arm and an involuntary twitch of his hand, as if the limb itself harboured some urge to lash out, to grab hold, to destroy.

Back then, Allen knew nothing of Innocence, the crystal-like matter which was embedded in his left palm in the shape of a vaguely glowing cross. He learned quickly however, of the akuma and the weapon he apparently had the ability to wield. Akuma that had evolved once were surprisingly talkative, especially when they were certain of their victory, but they perished nonetheless, sliced to ribbons by the knife-like claws adorning his fingertips.

The first form his Innocence had taken had been crude and a bit unstable to say the least, but just like the akuma, it evolved quickly, taking on a form which he could deal with having, turning him into something reminiscent of a white demon.

Even when he knew what the akuma were and how they came into existence, it was never a question of salvation; it was a question of survival – his – or him destroying them out of either pity or out of a desire to settle the stir their presence caused in him, stirring up his blood and with it numerous memories and impressions he could very well have done without. The akuma, however dangerous or pitiful they were, were a constant reminder for him what could have been, had things gone differently, had he accepted Mana's love and let his guard down for long enough.

Even so, to him they were also game. Regardless of whether he wanted it or not, he was a hunter; just like any carnivore or omnivore he had instincts and he listened to them, allowing them to guide him when he encountered them, especially out late at night. People disappeared all the time, and the akuma disguised as such disappeared too, especially if they got too close to him.

The billowing white hooded cloak, surrounded him like a protective shield capable of shooting out netlike threads glowing with an ethereal light, like spikes of light to pierce an enemy coming from behind or to grab onto something further away and capable of pulling either that something to him or him to that something. It was almost like spider web, seemingly brittle but stronger than expected, like a cape with the function of full-body armour. Along with it, there was a domino mask in black and silver, resting on the upper part of his face, shielding his identity just like the hooded cloak shielded him, as well as a left hand adorned with sharp claws – black, just like the rest of his arm had gone after he had put an end to an unusually large group of Level-Twos – to strike with.

He had been given the necessary tools to survive; now he only needed to attain the necessary skill to use them properly, and just like that Red, Allen Walker, stepped into the light… and became something else. The Joker, the Ghost, the White Demon… the Crowned Clown… So many names, so many faces, so many masks… The Joker held them all.

Why did it matter if he wore so many masks that he eventually forgot who he was beneath it all? It wasn't like anyone knew him – the real him – anyway, so would he have to remain as himself?

No. It was still there, beneath it all, the scar which had at some point come to symbolise him, to be the very anchor of his existence. It was a distinct proof of him, of the fact that he existed, the mark which he made in this world up until that point, carved into himself as if to make sure that he did not forget that he would live and die as Allen and no one else, regardless of which masks he hid behind for convenience.

Memories were unreliable after all, slippery like eels when he tried to grasp them and yet sticky like spider web when he tried to get away from them. He did not need them – memories, anyone's memories – he needed only himself. That was enough for him, for now at least.

**- o0o -**

He started dreaming again, about black voids and lakeside cemeteries where leafless trees stretched upwards towards the white crescent hanging in the sky like greedy hands longing for things they could never have, things like the crescent moon and its distorted reflection on the water's surface, a black crescent and a red sea filled with visions of a ruined world.

There was also a shadow in the water, orb-eyed and grinning, stared up at him where he stood at the edge, seemingly beckoning him closer. Allen always remained where he was, standing straight and simply stared down at it where it lurked in the deep. Somehow, it was quite clear to him that someday, that darkness which had been lurking within the depths of his consciousness would come to swallow him up, in one way or another. Someday, but not this day.

Someday, but not this day. Someday, but not tomorrow or the day after that, but possibly later.

As for when, he was not sure.

Silver-grey eyes looked up, defiant.

Never, if he had any choice in the matter.

**- o0o -**


	4. The Fourth Testament

…

**- o0o -**

**The Fourth Testament**

**The Hands of Time**

**- o0o -**

_He opened his eyes and knew he was dreaming. _

_He was standing on a clock face, right in the middle where the hands where attached. _

_There was ticking, an escalating ticking noise which seemed to accelerate more and more as time went on._

_The shadow was there too, as a grinning ghoul which stood motionless outside the clock face, nearly completely obscured by the darkness which lay beyond._

_Round orbs stared at him, unblinking._

_Lips moved, barely, but no words reached him._

**- o0o -**

Silver-grey eyes opened, looking around blearily.

He shifted his position slightly before once again resting his head onto his makeshift pillow, which just happened to be a living breathing one. The large feline he was resting against did not seem to mind however, and he shifted his position again, turning his body so that he was instead resting his front against the belly of the lion, all while he raked his fingers through its massive mane, enjoying the feel of it. This was by no means the first time he had taken a nap in a place such as this one, the lion cage. Oddly enough, he had found it strangely relaxing since the first time he had tried it, though he had taken his time to get to know them first before venturing into the cages of somewhat tame but still obviously dangerous animals. Lions were not much unlike dogs in some senses, as they were honest with what they felt and lived by instinct rather than deceit, except possibly when there was food involved. Prey.

Lions and dogs lived in flocks, but unlike dogs who had been bred to comply with the whims of the human race for hundreds or possibly even thousands of years, lions submitted to no one but themselves; not by their own free will at least. The lions that were at the circus were not completely tamed and were much like Allen in a sense; they had no strong bonds of loyalty to their "masters" and only lowered themselves to a human's whims in exchange for food or in order to avoid punishment. Perhaps it was not a very courageous path, but it was survival.

They were similar in a way, Allen and them, and perhaps they sensed that when he first approached them, reaching out to them. Initially though, there had been much fear in their eyes and a lot of aggression in their demeanour as they had lashed out towards him, growling menacingly and swiping after him with their paws. Their claws had barely reached him then, only managing to inflict a shallow cut on one of his wrists. He had not pulled away in order to avoid it; he had allowed it to happen and then he had stridden forward, catching a paw with gentle hands while staring the agitated lion in the eye. Whether it was because of some strange power or something else, the lion had stilled and suddenly there had been some sort of understanding between them; an understanding that went beyond that of words and growls and body language, and an abrasive tongue had begun to lick the cut that had been inflicted on him. It had been frail but it had been there and Allen had sensed it. Trust.

Of course, it had not escaped notice that he had started spending a lot of time by the animal cages and inside of them even. In fact, there had been quite an uproar the first time another person saw him do it, but all in all, it did not take very long for the Ringmaster to go from being scared out of his wits at the prospect of losing his most profitable performer to change his mind and start rubbing his hands together at the prospect of adding the beast taming act into the main one. Indeed, it was something that would no doubt feed the mystique and consequently also add to the popularity of Joker, which in turn would bring in more money for him.

Seeing the turning of the gears in the Ringmaster's head, Allen hadn't been able to refrain from snorting, questioning silently whether or not there was actually any limit to the man's greed. Then again, there was also the matter with all the disgruntled performers who felt like he had stolen the spotlight away from them, since he had become a great part of the main event and all, but Allen paid them very little heed overall.

Circus life and much of what it included had gradually started grating more and more on his nerves. He was experiencing feelings of restlessness too, as if his body knew something his mind did not and they manifested in dreams that liked to plague him both when he was asleep and awake; dreams of when he was younger, when he was still Red and still travelled with Mana.

There was a feeling, a reoccurring feeling of cold dread which seared through him, if only for a moment before he woke up. Even then, he could still feel, or at least imagine the feeling of a gloved hand at his throat – fingers wrapping around it, tightening until they started squeezing – trying to suffocate him or possibly even snap his neck. He neither knew which nor cared which.

Within then, something cold and metallic and frighteningly familiar suddenly came to rest on one of his temples, accompanied by a voice, a male voice full of disdain, telling him something, yelling at him, but he could not hear what was said, could not hear the words. This was normally followed by a flash of gold and red and white and then static, and then he always woke up, startled.

They were vivid dreams – nightmares – that each and every night managed to catch him and drag him into a net woven from memories, illusions and products of his own mind's sick imagination. Details varied, changing overtime as the images went in and out of focus.

Allen himself had no wish to dream. Spending time with the lions and the other animals at the circus seemed to have a calming effect on him, keeping the worst of them at bay. Fleeting impressions, such as the heavy smell of cigarette smoke and red wine, faded into the distance as he leaned in and inhaled the scent of a lion's mane.

Memories or dreams or illusions; it mattered very little to him which. They could all shatter and disappear for all that he cared; they mattered very little to him anyway.

**- o0o -**

Germany. The word tasted a bit strangely in his mouth; he had never been to Germany before, not even with Mana. Apparently they were going to perform there, in a number of towns he had forgotten the names of, before going on a tour throughout Europe.

Allen averted his eyes from the spectacle of the tents being pulled down and things being loaded onto carriages and other vehicles from where he sat up high in a tree nearby. Some change of scenery wouldn't be too bad, he reasoned. The constant moving around was troublesome in itself, but somehow it suited his mood, easing his feelings of restlessness a bit. He tilted his head to the side, looking in the direction where they would be heading. East.

Silver-grey eyes looked towards the horizon for a few more seconds. Then he jumped.

**- o0o -**

They arrived at their first stop without too many incidents along the way. There had been no large ones anyway, not of the kind that became known to the greater part of the circus at least. After all, who else but Allen himself could possibly know about the Level-Twos he had encountered at night-time and disposed of all the same?

The town itself was nothing out of the ordinary and looked very much like many other towns Allen had frequented, only German. It was lively, at daytime at least, and filled to the brim with chattering. Voices – of young and old, rich and poor – mingled to a steady stream of sound, a steady humming which both tickled and agitated his senses.

He had been in the country for just over a week and it already felt like he could understand a great deal of the language. The more his sensitive ears got used to hearing it, the more fine-tuned his understanding became and soon enough, everything started sounding like English to him, except different; he understood it to a certain degree and that was the only thing which held any kind of relevance in his world.

Allen sighed, pulling his knees closer to his chin where he sat on top of a pile of wooden boxes, surveying the immediate area with disinterest written on his face; there would be an event later that night, but it was still fairly early in the day, so he really had no duties worth mention to perform before that. In other words, as long as he showed up when he was supposed to, he was free to do whatever he wanted to.

Additional freedom was nice, but in truth, Allen had started to get tired of this whole routine a long time ago. In the end, this life was not much different from the one he had led as Red; he was just older, more skilled and higher up in the hierarchy, but overall the patterns were still the same. Even so, the drifting lifestyle of the circus fit him like a glove; it was just the company that sucked. It was not all that healthy, he supposed, to spend time with a bunch of people who were either harbouring a silent wish that he would get into an accident and die or were too busy counting the cash to care even the slightest about what kind of fate befell him. Not that the world outside of the circus was any different or anything; he honestly held no such illusions.

In the end, people only ever did things for themselves. Even the ones who pretended to be all kind and goody-goody only acted that way to feel better about themselves. It was either that or sheer stupidity, or possibly a mixture of both; Allen had yet to decide on that one and overall it was pretty far down on his list of priorities. There were other things he would much rather think about; things that felt somewhat less like a pointless pastime.

A string of words reached his ears and he looked up, silently watching as a couple of children, boys, ran past beneath the place where he sat, joining up with another group of children that were shouting something, singing something. _"__Miranda, Miranda, poor, poor Miranda,__ u__gly, unlucky and plain useless,__ o__ut looking for a job again?__ Y__ou'll get fired soon anyway…"_

The object of their merciless and quite obvious bullying was a gloomy dark-haired woman in a black old-fashioned dress. She wore a dark red scarf around her shoulders and that was about as much colour that was granted her general appearance other than the distinct pallor of her skin, a hue which went very well with her shadowed eyes and sunken cheeks. With all due honesty, to Allen, she looked remarkably much like a corpse, just a living breathing one. He observed her in silence, not quite sure as to why she had caught his eye. Maybe it was because she was by far the most miserable-looking individual he had seen in years, or maybe it was just the gloomy aura that distinguished her from the rest. It was almost as though she was the personified state of depression, which was both an incredibly sad and an incredibly amusing thing in Allen's world; he couldn't properly decide which.

A part of him wanted to interfere, but another wanted to stay where he was and simply watch the event unfold. After all, getting involved in something extraordinarily troublesome would really suck, at this rate at least. Maybe it was the world that had caused him to become twisted; or maybe he had been twisted from the very start. It mattered little which, since it provided a greater deal of entertainment, especially in a dreary colourless town such as this one.

The gloomy woman and the children disappeared out of sight. Allen let out a sigh, eyes searching for another source of temporary entertainment but finding none. _This is dull_, he eventually decided, jumping down from his elevated position.

**- o0o -**

Night fell and he once again donned the mask and cloak he commonly wore when he became Joker, readying himself for another spectacle. From where he was backstage, he could clearly hear how the clowns were out on stage making fools out of themselves as always, if the occasional waves of laughs and applauses were anything to go by. He did not need to see it; he had seen the act far too many times already. Seeing them perform somehow had this uncanny ability to blow new life into his memories of Mana, the crazy clown who had taken him in and with whom he had travelled for a while. It had been the time of his life, really, but a time he would much rather forget, seeing that memories were more of a bother than of use to him anyway.

The music told him that it would be his turn on stage in a few minutes and in response to this, his body tensed slightly and he made sure his cloak was secured and that his mask was held in place before getting ready for what he rather disdainfully referred to as his 'Dramatic Entrance Number Three'. It involved heights and jumping from them.

The audience seemed to be appropriately impressed by this, but he had only just gotten started.

Amongst pyrotechnics and acrobatics he lost himself, moving almost purely on autopilot as his mind was blissfully empty for once. In a way, he wanted it to last forever, the moment in the air where most other sounds drowned in the sound of air whistling past his ears, where he did not need to think about anything, where he did not need to feel anything beyond the sensation of flying. It was a moment of freedom – sheer and utter freedom – but it ended all too quickly as gravity called him back.

At the point where the act had ended and a rain of glitter showered over him and the audience, there was a sudden change somewhere, bringing his distant thoughts back to matters closer at hand. Something, an impulse almost, ran through him for a moment and he looked up, startled, although not showing it outwardly. _What was that?_

**- o0o -**

Elsewhere, a woman sat with her knees pulled up to her chin, weeping like there was no tomorrow.

She sobbed, hanging onto the Grandfather clock like there was no tomorrow; it was the only thing in her life that truly meant something, the only thing that seemed to care about her. She sniffed.

"I wish that tomorrow would never come…" she whispered.

"I wish that tomorrow would never come!" she repeated, shouting.

And time suddenly came to a stop.

**- o0o -**

A German newspaper lay on his lap and he surveyed it with dull interest. _October the 28__th__… _

He tilted his head to the side. Indeed, that's what the newspaper said, in German obviously, but it was still the same date. _Wasn't October the 28__th__ yesterday?_

Maybe it was an old newspaper, or maybe just a printing error. He looked up, noticing that there was something distinctively familiar with his surroundings and the people in them.

_"__Miranda, Miranda, poor, poor Miranda,__ u__gly, unlucky and plain useless…"_It was that song again, and the children, doing the exact thing as yesterday. And the gloomy woman too, though she appeared to be just a bit more frazzled this time around.

Allen kicked up an eyebrow. Then he turned his eyes elsewhere, searching for more similarities with the day before. When the Ringmaster passed by, talking excitedly about 'tonight' and the premiere and all that, which had evidently taken place the day before, Allen's eyebrow climbed even higher. _Don't tell me… _

**- o0o -**

It did not take him very long to realise that he had somehow managed to get caught up in some sort of time loop and he only needed another day to confirm it. It seemed rather peculiar to him to be completely honest, peculiar and rather annoying. After all, was it not bad enough to be forced to suffer through routine boredom and tedious events once? Did they really need to occur twice, trice or for an eternity?

His first reaction had been to do what he normally did when he encountered something he obviously could not fight head on; he attempted to find a way out. However, as it appeared, leaving the town did not appear to be possible as one still ended up coming back even though one had attempted to leave.

The town had, for one reason or the other, become a closed-off space. It was restricting. He wanted to get out, yet not even his claws in his transformed state had any effect on the barrier which was obviously in place. Upon realising the futility of trying to break the barrier head-on, he went to investigate the possible source of the phenomenon, having a distinct feeling about the general area in which he should look.

**- o0o -**

A woman named Miranda Lotto paced back and forth in her home, biting her nails, questioning both her own sanity as well as why others failed to notice and failed to believe her when she told them that the day in question had already occurred four times previously. She sank into an armchair for a brief moment, looking at the Grandfather clock at the other end of the room with a sudden fondness in her eyes. Then she was up again, wandering into the kitchen to fetch herself some tea to calm her nerves. However, experiencing her usual amount of luck or rather lack thereof, she ended up spilling scolding hot tea on her hand. Tears stung in her eyes as she kept her hand inside a basin of cold water. _"Miranda, Miranda,"_ she said, sniffing. _"Poor, poor Miranda…"_

"_Ugly, unlucky and plain useless,"_ she continued, still sniffing as she recalled the words she had heard so many times already. _"Out looking for a job again? You'll get fired soon anyway…"_

She pulled her hand out of the basin, experimentally moving her fingers. Her hand had been numbed by the cold by then anyway, so there was really no way of telling whether it would hurt much later on.

Sighed, Miranda poured what remained of the now lukewarm tea into a cup. She picked it up, carefully, to bring it with her into the other room. However, she didn't get much further than the doorway before she stopped, frozen in place. The teacup slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor, shattering the silence along with the surprised shriek she gave rise to.

There was a cloaked figure standing in front of her precious Grandfather clock, reaching out towards it. At the sound of the crash and her shriek, the figure noticeably startled before turning a bit, enough so that she could catch a glimpse of a black and silver mask beneath the hood. Then, she turned, instinctively set on running away, which in turn resulted in her stumbling and knocking herself out while doing so.

Silver-grey eyes surveyed the fallen woman on the floor with interest, crouching down next to her to get a better look. _What an odd person…_

Allen initially reached out towards her, but retracted his hand. Then, he sighed, straightening up and eyeing the cold water basin nearby, a vague idea taking form in his head.

**- o0o -**


	5. The Fifth Testament

…

**- o0o -**

**The Fifth Testament**

**The Wheel of Fortune**

**- o0o -**

The sky was grey, overcast with dark clouds that promised rain sometime in the near future. The sun shone bleakly behind them, like a solitary ball of light behind a curtain of endless grey. It was strange, Allen thought. It was as though the days had grown darker lately, even though they were supposedly the same as they were all October the 28th. He sighed heavily, bracing his elbows against his knees and joined his hands together, leaning his chin onto them while staring at the brick wall on the opposite side of the street, contemplating his next move.

On the other hand, his options at the moments were rather few and quite uninteresting at that, so he could really only wait, wait until the gloomy-looking woman sitting on the steps next to him stopped fidgeting nervously and formulated a reasonably intelligible sentence.

Allen raised his eyes skyward, sensing that something was about to occur, and surely enough, a few seconds later, a window was thrown open behind them and an enraged voice echoed throughout the alleyway. Allen merely turned around slightly so that he could get a better look at the spectacle, his eyes narrowing slightly in distaste behind the mask.

"You!" a woman shouted. "You cheated with that woman again, didn't you?!"

He had never held much liking for loud things.

"I'll toss you out of the window!"

He had never held much liking for people in the first place, loud or not.

"I'm sorry, dear!" a man gurgled, seemingly finding a challenge in speaking when his lawful wife had her hands around his throat, strangling and shaking him at the same time.

It was scenes like this one that made him question why people ever got married. Then again, he had always questioned why people who were not family chose to live together in the first place. _Family…_

What was a family anyway? What was it made out of anyway? What kept one together as a unit?

_I don't care_, Allen inwardly repeated, returning his gaze to the sky. After all, why would he care? It was not as though he had much experience in the whole department of family anyway. Besides, as far as he himself was aware he had no intention of ever belonging to one either, since he had been doing just fine on his own.

Picked up, thrown away, discarded. They did not want him and he did not need them; a truth which came to him as simple as breathing. His parents' faces, the faces of the scum that had brought him into this harsh and periodically ugly world, had faded from his memory long ago, but then again he had never really been good with faces…

**- o0o -**

_"I have a bad memory for faces," the clown said and he responded with an irritated huff._

_That deranged clown was fussing over his bruises, smearing old-man spit onto his cheek._

"_Gross."_

_"Did Cosimo beat you up?" the clown went on, seemingly oblivious to his growing irritation._

_"Shut up," he muttered in response, still fervently wiping the spit away._

_"Don't you have any friends?" the clown continued, making him want to hit him so badly._

**- o0o -**

Whatever did he answer to that stupid question anyway?

_It doesn't matter_, he silently repeated. _Because I don't care._

So caught up in his vague musings was he, that he almost startled when the gloomy woman next to him carefully leaned closer to whisper something. "T-they do it every morning."

Somehow, this fact did not make Allen surprised in the least. What surprised him was the fact that the gloomy woman next to him had actually taken the initiative to speak. On second thought, he really needed a name to go with that anxious face, even though he was fairly certain that he would forget both her name and what she looked like fairly soon anyway.

In the distance, he heard the clocks strike eight. It was still early in the morning and there was still quite some time before he actually needed to be somewhere; if he wanted, he could even waste his entire day sitting on top of these steps, yet the mere thought of it made him feel restless again. "What's your name?" he finally asked, uttering the words slowly as he was unused to speaking in German.

She startled, giving him another one of those frightened looks, as though he had just said he would murder her or rape her or something. Then again, maybe it was the Joker costume that intimidated her, as he had so obviously neglected to remove it earlier. Slowly, he reached up and removed the half-mask, lowering it from his face.

"M-My name is Miranda Lotto," the woman finally responded, her anxiety gradually morphing into something else. "I'm so happy to meet someone else who can see this town is strange! No matter who I told, they just made fun of me and I… and I… I was almost ready to kill myself there… I don't really know what to…"

What radiated from her now was an odd mixture of emotions, some of which he had a hard time identifying. It was puzzling to say the least, since she seemed oddly happy to him compared to earlier. Then again, as he had up until that point only witnessed the emotional states of gloomy depression, fidgeting anxiety and full-blown panic, he did not feel like he had observed her behaviour long enough to be passing judgment. Then again, overall, his initial impression of her being an odd person had yet to be proved wrong, not that he was in any position to be passing judgment or anything. If anything, then he was the odd one no matter where he was.

He gave the mask in his hand a contemplating look before raising it up to put it back on now that the gloomy woman – Miranda Lotto – did not appear to be frightened stiff of him anymore. This in turn was to be considered progress in itself, seeing to the fact that she appeared to be directly involved with the strange phenomenon and was possibly even the cause of it, and it was the latter that he still needed an answer to. Still, recognising the type of person he was apparently dealing with, he knew better than trying to force the issue; just like when dealing with the lions, he needed to be patient if he wanted to make progress.

His people skills had developed some since the time when he started travelling with Mana, but all in all, he preferred avoidance over interaction. In terms of confrontation however, a good fight could prove to be surprisingly refreshing sometimes, even though he did not seek out such fights intentionally. Fights like that just had a certain tendency of occurring in his immediate vicinity, especially when there was poker involved, or just playing cards in general; it could go either way.

At least the regulars at the circus now knew better than to try to get even with him through fists or blunt force; he had handed their arses to them a dozen times already, and even the less gifted learnt their lesson eventually. Nowadays however, fights in general were quite rare; nowadays the only fights he readily participated in were those that occurred during his night-time hunt and few of those could count as thrilling.

The hunt was not about thrill but rather to stamp out the feelings they evoked, pulling them back beneath the surface. They had gotten sharper over time, his senses along with his instincts. Trouble lay ahead, he knew that much at least, but it was still too early to tell what kind of trouble the future would entail. If such a thing was possible then he would rather not get involved. However, as things appeared, he himself was right by the epicentre of it. Besides, it was not like a time loop like this one would remain unnoticed forever and with discovery, trouble would no doubt arrive if it had not already entered. _I don't want to get involved…_

Almost on its own accord, his body got up and descended a few steps. It was only a hand, fingers grasping tightly onto his cloak, that stopped him from going any further. "Please… wait."

He turned around slightly, catching sight of pleading eyes.

"Don't go…" The fingers tightened, shaking slightly with desperation. "I'll do anything, just don't leave!"

Allen failed to see why it would matter to her whether he stayed or left, much less why it evoked such desperation in her to stop him from leaving. Truly, humans were hard to understand at times.

"Please stay…" Tears. She was crying.

"I can't," he eventually responded, feeling as though he somehow owed her an answer. There was something bad about making a woman cry, but in all due honesty he did not consider it his fault; not entirely, at least. He sighed again, looking up at the skies for a moment, coming to a decision. "You come."

She startled, letting go of his cloak in pure surprise.

"I can't stay," Allen repeated, elaborating slightly. "You have nothing better to do right now, so you come."

She looked surprised again, in disbelief even, but still oddly hopeful. At least her tears had stopped falling, Allen thought. "Can I… really?" she finally asked, her voice trembling a bit.

"Do as you like," he responded, taking a step forward.

When she attempted to follow she stumbled, but Allen – with the previous night still fresh in his memory – had already put out an arm to prevent the fall before it happened. He held out his hand – the left one, covered by a glove – for her to take, and she did so after a while and with much hesitation before they moved further up the alley in direction of the main street. Had Allen been looking, he would have noticed the slight redness that spread across the woman's cheeks, along with a hesitant smile that looked more like a twitch on the lips than anything else.

_What am I doing?_ Allen silently wondered to himself, eyes directed forward, eyeing their path for any incoming obstacles.

"_Miranda, Miranda, poor, poor Miranda,"_ the children sang as they caught sight of them passing by. _"Ugly, unlucky and plain useless… Out looking for a job again?"_

Allen felt how the woman next to him stiffened noticeably, and a short glance confirmed the shadow that had crossed her face.

"_You'll get fired soon anyway!"_ the children finished, just as one of them bent down for something on the ground.

Allen barely resisted a sudden urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he went for the other option, which consisted of him removing them out of the line of fire with a sharp tug just before a lump of something unsightly whizzed by. A cry of both disappointment and disbelief was heard, but Allen paid very little heed to the source of it, opting to give the woman's hand another tug. "Let's go."

There was a sharp intake of breath. Surprise. One of the children, the leader of the group, crossed into his line of vision, looking up at him with a somewhat sour and somewhat accusing expression. Allen paused slightly, returning the look with a blank expression, which was mostly hidden by the mask. "Strange Mister, Miranda's bad luck will rub off on you if you talk to her!" the leader loudly informed him.

Allen titled his head to the side in question. "Is that so?"

"It's true!" the leader affirmed, supported by his enthusiastic cohorts. "It's true! It really is!"

Allen inwardly sighed, sensing the darkening emotional cloud forming behind him. _Somehow…_

"_Miranda, Miranda, poor, poor Miranda,"_ the children went on. _"Ugly, unlucky and plain usele-…"_

His eyes narrowed slightly behind the mask, but then a slightly mischievous smile started playing on his lips. He let go of Miranda's hand and instead crouched down, lowering himself so that he and the leader had the same eyelevel. "In such case…" he started, his voice starting out chipper and gradually lowering itself to an ominous-sounding hiss all while his smile broadened to a grin. "Shall I curse you too?"

The effect of it was nearly instantaneous as the children cried out in surprise but also in fear, eyes wide. "Run! Run!" the leader of the gang urged his comrades and they took off all while a slight chuckle found its way up Allen's throat, upon which the children's pace to get as far away from them as possible picked up noticeably. In return, this only added to Allen's amusement, even though he really did not understand why it was so bloody amusing in the first place. Though on second thought, it was bloody damn obvious.

"They're right, you know…" Miranda said and he turned back to her. "My bad luck will…"

Silver-grey eyes studied her in silence. "I don't believe in bad luck," Allen then replied, his face devoid of any expression yet again.

"But…"

"If I were to believe in it, bad luck would no doubt befall me," he continued, choosing to ignore her protest. "Hence I don't."

It may not have been an absolute truth, but it did hold at least some kind of truth within. It was far from perfect and he realised that, being a realist and all. The Wheel of Fortune favoured some more than others, people's fears and wishes aside. There was no fairness as far as luck was concerned; regardless of how luck was divided, leaving things up to chance when it could be avoided was pure stupidity. In life as in poker, no matter what kind of hand fate dealt him, he strived to win; if he needed to cheat, then so be it, since cheating took the element of luck out of the equation.

"But I… I've always been useless…" Miranda insisted, smiling weakly at him. "You know how there are those who can't do anything right no matter what? I've always been like that, ever since I was young. Anybody can do anything better than I can… and this is why I can't… keep a job for very long…"

**- o0o -**

_"You're not getting revenge?"_

_Mana the Clown, finished with his prayer over the grave of Allen the Dog, looked up with a false smile plastered on his face._

_"If I do that I'll get thrown out of here and won't get paid… I'm a newcomer after all..."_

**- o0o -**

A memory, back from the time before he became Allen, flashed briefly before his inner sight before once again fading into obscurity. In silence, he pondered why he had been reminded of such an old event, but before long he shrugged it off as unimportant; he had far more recent matters to worry about. Silver-grey eyes looked at the woman next to him with a kind of dull disinterest bordering on interest as the person in question tensed up again, looking at the circus tent before them with renewed anxiety, terror even.

Allen still didn't understand humans. At times however, he also found that he really did not understand himself.

**- o0o -**

Five days had already passed since he had found the source of the time-bending phenomenon, but to Allen's gradually increasing feelings of frustration he was by no means any closer to get out of there than he had been almost a week previously. In all truthfulness, the whole affair had certainly taken its toll on his nerves, and if he did not manage to achieve some sort of progress soon, then there was a slight but not so slight possibility that he might snap under the pressure; he had never dealt well with pressure, especially not when shut into a closed off space where time had screwed itself up and the same day kept repeating itself.

Then again, if memory served him right, then he was borderline claustrophobic and also held a lifelong aversion of things that repeated themselves over and over. Thus, getting stuck in a place such as this – a town where time rewound on a regular basis without much of an opportunity to get out – really did correspond quite well to his definition of Hell, not that he actually believed in such a place or anything. After all, why would there even be a need for an actual Hell with the world being the way it was? Then again, looking at the members of clergy and others who pretty much expected to get a first-class ticket to Heaven when they croaked, Allen really did not wish to imagine what Heaven would look like, should such a place even exist.

He sighed inwardly, watching from his slightly elevated position on top of a couple of barrels as the Ringmaster continued yelling at a fidgeting Miranda, who held a remarkable resemblance to a frightened rabbit. _Like a frightened rabbit in the middle of a lion's den_, Allen mused before jumping down, his cloak flapping in the wind.

**- o0o -**

"Joker!" the Ringmaster shouted at him when his approach had been spotted. "The wench is useless! She does more damage than good anyway, so make her go away!"

Allen stared at him, unimpressed at the display, before sneaking a glance in Miranda's direction and taking note of that she looked like she was about to have another emotional breakdown. Then, he looked back at his boss, giving him a blank stare which was partially obscured by the mask of Joker as it rested on the upper part of his face. "No," he then responded, stating his opinion with a tone of finality.

The Ringmaster's eyebrow twitched noticeably, signalling his gradually increasing agitation. Allen barely resisted smirking. "Pardon?"

Indeed, times had changed. Back when he had been Red, the Ringmaster had been under the impression that he had owned him and therefore politeness had never been needed on his end of communication. Now, seeing the flustered greedy swine of a man force himself not to explode at him was a sight for sore eyes, truly. After all, it really would not do to treat the "star" he had "discovered" badly, as there were plenty of other circuses out there that would obviously not mind having a piece of him if the opportunity was given, in other words, if his contract was broken.

It was simply too bad for the Ringmaster that Allen himself held little intention of honouring the contract any longer than was absolutely necessary anyway. As a matter of fact, the thought of not having to see the man's kind of ugly face every other day did sound rather appealing now that he actually thought of it, though obviously not as appealing as the thought of murdering the bastard in his sleep. Indeed, such a thing would have been tempting, but if he ever did get around to leaving this twisted refuge of human misfits and freaks, then he would obviously prefer doing so without being chased as a murderer if he could avoid it. Then again, he could always throw a knife at him and claim to have had a slip in concentration or something, not that anyone would actually buy into it. But, if he knew the circus people as well as he thought he did, then it would only be a question of time before a new bastard stepped up to take the lead where the other had left off.

_Stay focused._

Allen looked up again, his posture straightening some before he finally opened his mouth to speak. "I brought her here, so I'll take responsibility for her," he stated simply with a mild shrug. "Is there a problem?"

The Ringmaster stared at him, eyes narrowing slightly. Then his facial expression smoothened and he reached out, clasping a heavy hand onto his shoulder."Then, I shall leave her to you, Joker. Do not disappoint me. If she is of any further hindrance then she must leave. Understood?"

Silver-grey eyes narrowed in silence. _Since when did I ever give a damn about what you think?_

**- o0o -**

He was starting to lose count already of the failures he had witnessed as of late, or at least that was what was on his mind whenever he watched the gloomy woman – Miranda Lotto – fall flat for the umpteenth time since he actually started paying attention to it. He barely resisted rolling his eyes at the whole spectacle, noting how the aura of gloominess had started to thicken yet again.

Had that woman not been his potential ticket out of this time loop, then he would no doubt have given up and have let fate have run its course. Not getting involved in things was his preferred way of life, and he would very much like to keep it that way, at least to the extent it was possible to retain. Humans were bothersome and difficult to understand, and all in all, it was better not to get involved; it was better not to meddle in things that were not even his business to begin with.

Inwardly, he sighed. His mind had been muddled as of late, riddled with fragments of thoughts and memories he would rather forget than recall, and as such his patience was starting to run out. He was very much aware of the fact that even though the same day kept on repeating over and over in this place, there was no guarantee that such a thing would remain unnoticed forever.

Eventually, someone was bound to turn up to investigate and in truth, Allen had no intention whatsoever in being around whenever they did, if such a thing could be avoided at least. Then again, evidently, none of the white-clad Black Order agents he had had fleeting encounters with or observed from a distance had seemed to realise his true identity as an Innocence Accommodator, but there was little guarantee that such a thing would remain forever. If anything, then they were bound to get more observant eventually, and following his general principle of avoiding anyone particularly involved with the perhaps-inexistent twisted bastard commonly known as God, he wished to remain hidden from their sight as long as was humanly and inhumanly possible if he had even the slightest choice in the matter.

He sighed again, resigned. _It can't be helped._

"It's useless… I'll never be able to do this… I'm useless…"

It was almost like a mantra, repeated over and over again until it became synonymous with the truth. It was repetitive and stagnant; it was binding.

His eyes narrowed again behind the mask, but with his back to her, it wasn't like she could see it anyway. In truth, there was little need to bind humans by purely physical means, seeing that so many of them made such excellent work of creating their own bonds and tying themselves down by adapting duties tied to roles, some of which would have been better to discard in the first place. However, roles had a tendency to get stuck and acquired habits were often hard to break.

Even worse, humans themselves felt some kind of inner need to attach themselves to something, to become a part of a unity, of a flock. Foregoing one's own independence for the sake of becoming a part of a greater unit made way for pack mentality, in humans and in animals alike and surprisingly so. For all that humanity had supposedly set themselves aside from beasts, foregoing the laws of nature that could be foregone and spewing pretty words about everyone's equality in the eyes of God, it was more of a rule than an exception that they acted the same as the so called beasts they held in such low regards.

But, in the end, Allen supposed that it might actually be so that humans were special in some kind of way after all, although he had yet to figure out exactly what set them apart from the rest besides the whole matter of hypocrisy. Humans retained their instincts, but they still had the freedom of choosing whether or not to follow them. Regardless of where one had been born in the societal hierarchy, one still had a right to choose whether to stay in the role that society had assigned or to break loose, or that's what he thought at least. _As long as there is will…_

He finished shuffling through the box in front of him and pulled out what he had been looking for, holding it out towards her when he turned to face her. "Here."

She stared at the mask, not quite comprehending the fact that he had intended for her to take it from the looks of it, and as such Allen felt obliged to elaborate. "You wish to change, do you not?" he said, tilting his head slightly to the side. "Or do you wish to remain the way you are for the rest of your worldly existence?"

She kept staring back and forth between him and the mask held out towards her, uncertain. "I…"

"If you're not making any headway as yourself, why don't you try being someone else?" Allen finally asked, depositing the mask into her upheld palm. "It's your choice."

_As long as there is will… there is possibility for change._

**- o0o -**


	6. The Sixth Testament

…

**- o0o -**

**The Sixth Testament**

**The Lion's Den**

**- o0o -**

A surprising calm filled him as he stood over by the lion cage and his previously tense posture gradually shifted into a more relaxed one as yet another lion, one of the younger ones, came forth to nuzzle his palm. Allen somewhat absentmindedly returned the gesture by shifting his posture slightly so that he could reach to scratch behind its ear, his fingertips finding the itch as if guided there by an unknown force, all while the young lion purred almost like a domesticated housecat and seemingly invoked the jealousy of his fellow pack mates if the sudden shift in moods Allen could pick up was any indication.

The designated alpha amongst the small group of felines rose from its previously lying position. Amber eyes surveyed the human boy for a few moments, but there was no growl or anything that was to indicate any threat. Even so, the human's hand slowly retreated back to the other side of the bars as its owner took a small step backwards and proceeded to give a slight nod in direction of the alpha before removing himself completely, walking over to the newcomer – the human female with a strange "smell", similar to the boy's – where she stood four metres away, throwing wary glances towards the lion cage at regular intervals but not showing any other signs of fear except the amount which could be picked up by a more sensitive sense of smell. "Are you not afraid when you get so close to them?" the woman, Miranda Lotto, asked with a great deal of awe.

"I'm not afraid," the boy, Allen Walker, affirmed while throwing a short glance in direction of the cage. "But… I respect them and they respect me. They won't attack unless I violate the terms of our agreement…"

Miranda said nothing, but regarded him with a somewhat questioning look which in turn caused him to elaborate. "It's a question of territory," he said. "If I enter uninvited, then I'll likely be considered a threat. Think of it as a scenario with a homeowner and a burglar."

Then again, maybe that was a bad example, Allen silently mused. Or possibly even a great example, since he technically did break and enter back then even though he held no particular intention whatsoever to steal anything. "So, how's the juggling going?" he then asked, directing the conversation elsewhere. It was a pointless question, truly, since he already knew the answer to it.

In response, Miranda shifted a bit ashamedly and tucked a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear to keep it out of her face; Allen had certainly approved when she had actually taken the initiative to let her hair out of that abomination of a knot on top of her head, but as it seemed, finding another way to keep the hair out of the way might be beneficial. "I'm sorry…" Miranda responded, apologising for the umpteenth time already. "I can't do it, I just can't… Even though I already know that I can't do anything right, I just keep on trying even though it's no good at a-…"

She wasn't wearing the mask and Allen was noticing the difference already. It seemed as though the emotional regression was particularly strong on this day of October the 28th, and Allen would really hate to see all that hard work in striving for the other direction be undone due to such a pointless sense of pessimism. Barely resisting the urge to sigh, he instead looked her straight in the eye, piercing her with a pair of serious unwavering silver-grey eyes along with the words that slid off his tongue almost at the same moment as the thought had occurred to him. "If you do not believe in yourself, why would I believe in you?"

_Why would anyone?_

The question itself was purely rhetorical, of course, but it was still one he would very much like to have an answer to and especially so in case he had been wasting his time with her all along if she wasn't willing to cooperate anymore. It was purely as simple as that.

Miranda was giving him that look again, that same look which he had come to associate with kicked puppies pleading for food, love and affection. Evidently, cats could pull off a look which was pretty similar to it, but then again, he had always liked cats so it really wasn't the same thing.

He sighed, once again wondering just what he had gotten himself into. "Do you trust me?"

She startled slightly."Y-yes."

He levelled her with an impassive look. "Are you sure?"

She nodded, though nervousness, fear and hesitance were still quite obvious both in her body and facial language, as well as in her tone of voice. "Yes."

Even so, he smiled faintly, decidedly satisfied with such a level of determination. "Then help me out for a bit."

**- o0o -**

Regardless of whatever vaguely established plans Allen might have had in mind for the future, making Miranda Lotto target practice certainly had not been one of them. Hell, even the thought of including her in an actual performance had seemed quite foreign to him and it still did, just not to that very extent anymore. At least the Ringmaster had congratulated him on finally having found a purpose for the "useless wench", to whom he had been introduced several times already but had never really changed his opinion about, reacting over and over in the same pattern as before.

_It is a question about trust and the building of self-confidence_, Allen mentally repeated. _It's all a question about trust and the building of self-confidence…_

At least that was what he had intended for it to be, but if the looks and gibes he had been getting lately during these last few turns would serve as any sort of indication, then his surroundings had clearly not grasped the intended purpose of it all. That, along with the wolf-whistles, of course.

Then again, he let them think whatever they liked and since he was about fifteen and all, he supposed that he would be going through that phase eventually, at least in a biological sense. As for the whole romantic part of whatever delusions people had about him, Allen honestly could not say he gave a damn about such things as people believed whatever they believed and could rarely be convinced otherwise. Besides, it was an established fact that Allen did not understand the whole concept of romance to begin with; he did however understand the basic concept of attraction and intercourse, the latter with or without the purpose of creating offspring. As a matter of fact, romance had always been a quite foreign concept for him and in truth, he would rather prefer it if it stayed that way too.

As for the whole matter of pleasure, Allen could understand it and even see the benefits of it, to a certain extent, at least. However, up until that point and likely far beyond that as well, he held no acute desire whatsoever to engage in the so called "pleasures of the flesh". As a matter of fact, back when he was still Red, he had greatly discouraged anyone who might have approached him with the intention of introducing him to it, and believe it or not, some well-aimed kicks, punches and bites did quite well to ensure it did not happen again. Kicks in the groin area usually proved the most effective.

For some reason, the recollection of such an event brought a smile to his face, which was a quite rare occurrence in itself since his memories usually only seemed to exist for the very sake of reminding him of some pointless event back when he was still Red. _Speaking of which…_

Silver-grey eyes wandered slightly before his gaze finally settled on a certain individual he had been observing as of late, who was in turn observing a seemingly oblivious woman. The dark look present in that person's eyes was one he recognised, but Allen, still in the guise of Joker, gave no indication of having seen it, although he still kept an eye on things out of the corner of his eye.

Simply because he did not find Miranda Lotto attractive did not mean that she was looked upon in the same way by others. However, although there was little denying the lustful glances that person sent her way, Allen could tell that more than Miranda's looks were to be considered as points of attractiveness in this particular case. If anything, then many men would be drawn to her vulnerability due to her lack of self-confidence and demeanour in general. Perhaps they thought she would be willing to do anything for them for just a bit of their attention, for just a bit of their acknowledgement?

In silence, Allen sought to convey a discreet message to the man in question – the Ringmaster, no surprise there. _Stare all you want, but if you lay a hand on her I will see that you end up the same way Cosimo did…_

It was not a question about possessiveness on his part; it was merely that being forced to deal with a likely to be traumatised and possibly even raped Miranda was far beyond what he could even consider dealing with at this point. Besides, she was technically the key to him managing to leave the Rewinding Town to begin with so the thought of having anyone mess around with his potential ticket out of there was not very appealing to him, especially considering all the time and effort he had spent on her so far. Really, the prospect of seeing all that go to waste really would not sit well with him. Not well at all…

**- o0o -**

October the 28th came and went at regular intervals and Allen, having lost count of the number of times he had gone through it all already, wandered aimlessly around the backstage area and did so not in his stage outfit for once. He was restless and incredibly so and he really was not making it any better by pacing back and forth like some bloody… something. He stopped, turned abruptly, and his eyes fell on the accursed piano – the very one that failed musician had dragged along – and narrowed slightly.

Now that he thought of it, it had been a while since that disheartened musician met his end after gradually having withered away due to a rather nasty case of what had probably been tuberculosis. In addition, ironic as it was, the guy might even have been able to afford to get some treatment in case he had only sold that accursed piano of his. However, instead the man himself had actually gone as far as to bequest the thing onto Allen of all people, for reasons best known to himself.

"Oh… You play the piano?" Miranda asked as she pulled the large curtain aside to enter.

Allen nearly startled, having been far too caught up in his thoughts to even notice her arrival, before scowling slightly for not having paid attention to his surroundings. His facial expression however gained another meaning in Miranda's eyes and with the telltale sharp intake of breath, Allen knew that there would be another outburst of apologies in just a few moments. "Oh! I'm so sorry! That was intrusive of me! Forget all about it! I'm sorry! I'm lea-…"

He held up a hand to stop her from continuing further, his facial expression softening some. "…It's fine," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "It's a fair question. I do play, occasionally, though I'd rather not."

"I cannot read notes, so I can only play things by ear," he continued, turning to gaze at the instrument. "I can't say that I'm any good at it either…"

Miranda Lotto stood in silence for a while, seemingly letting his words sink in before looking back up at him with a look in her eye that Allen could not quite identify. "Will you… play something for me?" she then asked, somewhat hesitantly, all while gauging his reaction to it all.

He merely smiled somewhat wryly at her in response. "…I'll try."

**- o0o -**

Gloved fingertips danced over ivory- and ebony-coloured keys with seemingly practiced ease, as though those hands had been playing the piano for years and years and years to no end. Familiar, yet unfamiliar, the instrument itself had remained the same as it had been when it had arrived at the circus and it still held the power to invoke such hauntingly beautiful music, or at least it did whenever Allen's hands were the ones dancing over the keys. The accursed instrument had always had a certain kind of allure to it, and although Allen had made the decision of avoiding it as much as possible, it was as though it almost called out to him whenever he was nearby, beckoning him closer to lift the lid and uncover the keys. But Allen had withstood this, almost at every opportunity, and when he had played he had played purely due to necessity, when it was required of him.

A melody floated into existence, a soft melody reminiscent of a lullaby, and it was almost as though he found his consciousness floating away there and then, aligning itself and merging with the music before ebbing away into non-existence. Then, all of a sudden, a sudden chill ran through him and he froze up. In the background, he could hear Miranda calling his name, sounding worried, but he paid her no heed as he slowly retracted his fingers from the keys and slammed the lid shut before releasing a breath he hadn't realised he had been holding and relaxing somewhat in his posture. "What's wrong?!" Miranda's voice echoed in his head and he looked up at her for a moment in silence before tilting his head slightly to the side. "Allen?!"

"I'm fine," he then responded, his voice calm as he looked back at the piano.

Miranda however, looked far from convinced that nothing was wrong with him; Allen supposed she was a bit more perceptive than he had initially given her credit for, though judging from the cold sweat on his face, he did sort of wonder whether the colour had drained from his face as well. Allen supposed it was a small miracle in itself that he was not shivering pathetically, merely to complete the image. The mere thought of it brought a wry smile to his face. _I have a bad feeling about this…_

**- o0o -**

Whatever sense of foreboding he might have had earlier on, trouble had seemingly deemed it fit to arrive on his doorstep. Luckily for him though, he was in his full Joker-attire and standing on top of the platform attached to the tightrope at the time, and as such he had an excellent view of what was taking place below.

Miranda was working backstage on this twentieth's-something day of October the 28th, engaged in sewing her new costume of all things, because although she herself admitted to the fact that her skill in needlework was rudimentary at best, she still wanted to make it herself. Allen supposed it had something to do with her proving to herself that she could manage things decently if given the opportunity to, or something to that respect. _It's about bloody damn time._

Allen tiredly shook his head, dispelling the lingering thoughts so that he could focus more on the present and what was taking place there and then, on the arrival of some black-coated Rose-Cross-wearing nuisances he could very much have done without. Speaking of which, how did they manage to get into the town in the first place?

**- o0o -**

"I'm Lenalee Lee," the black-haired black-clad girl introduced herself, flashing a friendly smile at the Ringmaster who in turn let out a slight hum of appreciation, if not of her friendliness then of her figure in general and the ridiculously short skirt in particular. "And this is Kanda," she finally added, her smile growing just a tad more strained when her silent and grumpy-looking companion stubbornly kept his silence and seemingly refused to introduce himself.

Speaking of which, the grumpy-looking long-haired guy – who looked like he had never smiled in his entire life or even knew how to do so in the first place – was already shooting glares around the place, apparently feeling that he was under scrutiny, no matter how discreet Allen had been. _Sharp instincts. Dangerous._

Having performed a swift analysis on the grumpy one, Allen moved onto determining what else he could possibly be dealing with, other than that they were both exorcists and that one of them could be rather troublesome to deal with. The girl – Lenalee or whatever she had called herself – looked fairly harmless at the first glance with her seemingly friendly demeanour and delicate build, but Allen could tell that there was more to her than just a pretty face. Then again, that in itself did not mean that Allen himself was interested or anything simply because he thought she was a little pretty; he merely found himself facing a sudden urge to snigger at the thought of sending such a short-skirted soldier out to war. Honestly, had the Black Order no decency? Then again, these were the same people who readily and often forcefully recruited children to fight in their holy war, so Allen did not really need an answer to that. _Servants of a merciful God, indeed._

"And what do you have to offer?" the Ringmaster asked, surprisingly blunt; Allen had honestly expected him to start snaring her with pretty words and empty promises of fame and glory or something along those lines. Either way, the girl did not at all appear to have been offended; it was quite the opposite, actually.

"Oh, my speciality is acrobatics but I also-…" she started, but before she was even finished the Ringmaster turned to her silent companion instead.

"And you?"

The grumpy guy let out a slight snort in response before taking a step backwards to put some more distance between them before he unsheathed a sword hanging at his hip and had within just a few seconds completed a complex pattern of cuts into the air at a blurring speed before he had once again sheathed his sword and bowed – if such an irritated nod could ever count as a bow – before the baffled Ringmaster, who required only a few seconds to recover before his bafflement gradually started to melt into the type of expression he usually wore whenever there was some serious money waiting to be made. _As if they're going to stick around for long, you greedy idiot._

Then again, silently insulting people in his mind was not the most productive thing he could be doing at the moment, Allen supposed.

"Impressive," the Ringmaster eventually yielded after a few more moments of thought. "I could really have use for someone with your skills…" he paused briefly, then turned towards the girl with a sickeningly sweet smile, adding "And you too, my dear" to the end of his statement.

_Oh, so she is 'his dear' already? He must have taken quite a shine to her then_, Allen thought, barely managing to restrain himself from snorting from all his contained laughter; who would have thought eavesdropping on Black Order agents trying to get on his boss' good side was this bloody amusing?

Lenalee continued to smile, but it was a more reserved one compared to the smile she had initially worn. Perhaps she was starting to feel uncomfortable with the sudden intimacy and dark eyes directed towards her?

The Ringmaster turned around, laughing openheartedly in the nice-guy persona he usually acted out whenever there were outsiders present. "But, let's see how well you can coordinate," he then said, clapping his hands. "Joker! Get down from there! We've got some new potential recruits, so would you help looking them over for me?"

Allen, shifting over to his Joker persona to match the guise he was wearing, complied with the order with only a moment's delay, during which a smile plastered itself onto his face. Then he calmly walked up to the edge of the platform and stepped off into thin air, earning himself a startled gasp from his unsuspecting audience (that and a snort, and an amused chuckle) before he fell down towards the ground by the force of gravity, experiencing the thrill of the air rushing past him on the way down before he softly impacted on the ground after seemingly having slowed his descent drastically just a few feet over the ground. Once standing upon steady ground again, he finished with a deep bow just as his white cloak fell back down and concealed his body yet again.

The Ringmaster let out a sound of appreciation. "May I present Joker, the current star of our troupe," he said, gesturing towards him.

"Hi," Lenalee said once she had recovered some from the surprise, putting her hand out towards him. "I'm Lenalee."

Her companion grunted something inaudible, but Allen paid him no heed as he graciously captured her hand with his gloved one and held it to his lips. Catching sight of her surprise which was soon followed by a blush which indicated her embarrassment, the Joker could not help but smile blindingly at her before letting go and rounding it all off with a back flip followed by another deep bow. "Good afternoon," he responded, showing off another row of glistening white teeth in a bright, albeit feral grin. "Young lady."

**- o0o -**

Duck, dodge, jump, dodge, turn, duck, parry, kick, back flip, sidestep, take aim.

Sparring with not only one but two exorcists proved to be quite a hassle, even though it was not a death match by any means, or at least it would not have been if the silent sword-guy had not seemingly been engaged in actively trying to cut him to ribbons now that the only ones present were those engaged in the spar. The girl proved to be quite fierce too, not to mention agile, although the grumpy sword-guy really was not very far behind her in terms of athletics and acrobatics and also wielded a razor-sharp cutting tool with little or no concerns for his continued state of wellbeing, and as such the major part of Allen's attention was on avoiding just that. After having managed to put a fair bit of difference between himself and the others, Allen's silver-grey eyes narrowed briefly behind the mask before a smirk threatened to start playing on his lips, and he let out a somewhat amused snort. _It's two against one_, he thought. _Not that I'd consider fighting fairly anyhow._

And with that, his trusted throwing knives appeared in his hands and he threw them at his adversaries, making use of the distraction to launch a sneak attack on Lenalee, who had been far too concerned with dodging the knives to notice his presence before he held one to her throat, smiling amiably at her. "Yield?"

Somewhat reluctantly, she bowed her head in submission. Allen removed the knife from her throat just in time to parry another attack from Kanda, the sword-guy, who also did not seem to have any sort of qualms about fighting unfairly. Interesting. "Do you long for another dance, Mister Grumpy?" the Joker asked with a smile which only broadened at the sight of the other's eyebrow twitching at the unwanted nickname. Really, riling people up with nicknames… what was he thinking?

Dodge, dodge, duck, kick, dodge, back flip, sidestep, jump…

Allen already knew from the look in those dark blue eyes that he could expect no admittance of defeat from them, as they belonged to a human who was ferocious enough to be called a beast and persistent enough to be called an idiot. As such, he did what he had to; after all, wild beasts did require quite firm handling and he could not grant any leeway, lest he wanted to end up devoured or in this particular case, being sliced to ribbons.

Having gathered quite a few of his throwing knives off the ground even in the middle of the fight, he then threw about half at the swordsman who took them out with his sword without much effort. However, the action in itself still allowed Allen the momentum he needed to get up close and as the sword came down on him, he did something utterly reckless, something he would never have expected of himself as he caught the blade in-between his hands, stopping it from descending any further. Dark blue eyes widened momentarily in surprise and that was really all he needed to push the blade aside and deliver an elbow to the swordsman's stomach, hearing him gasp at having been caught by surprise. The sword fell from his grip and was swiftly snatched up by Joker, who then proceeded to point it at the other's face where he crouched on the ground in pain. Narrowed silver-grey eyes gazed down upon the temporarily defeated warrior before he pulled the sword away and changed his grip, presenting it back to the swordsman with a graceful bow.

The sword was reclaimed by the still aggravated swordsman, but he made no move to attack again so Allen regarded it as an overall success as he reached down to retrieve his throwing knives as they were still scattered pretty much all over the place. The girl, Lenalee, let out a gasp at the sight of his bleeding palms and apologised profusely for both them and his partially ripped cloak, but he waved his hand in dismissal, unintentionally smearing part of his costume with blood while he was at it.

Red. It was a nice colour.

Besides, he did have two or more Joker costumes to spare, as this was by far not the first time he had been unexpectedly assaulted by a sword-wielding maniac. If he recalled things correctly, he had at some point incurred the wrath of one of the sword-swallowing morons who had been a part of the troupe at some point in time. No matter.

He shook his head tiredly in response to Lenalee's offer to treat his sustained injuries and the exorcists left the ring and the tent none-the-wiser of his real identity. Now if only things would manage to stay that way.

He looked up, eyeing his appearance in the mirror backstage and for a moment he thought there was something there, standing behind him. After having sneaked a glance to make sure it wasn't so, he turned back to the mirror only to find his own reflection there, so he dismissed it all as a mirage caused by the fact that he had not been getting very much sleep as of late. Besides, with the recent appearances, Allen harboured great doubts he would be able to sleep much at all in the near future.

"Troublesome," he muttered as he set to work with patching up his bleeding palms; luckily for him, the gloves had seemingly absorbed most of the impact as the cuts themselves were quite shallow and would provide no hindrance to him, unless he managed to get them infected, that is.

Upon having finished his work, he pulled on a new pair of gloves before shrugging off the partially ripped and bloody Joker-costume and removing the mask from his face. Once again, his eyes sought out the mirror and upon seeing his reflection they swiftly zeroed in on the scar on the left side of his face. He reached up to touch it, but his hand paused half-way before falling back down again.

_I carve my own path, I shape my own fate, _he inwardly repeated_. I'll keep on walking… until the very end._

**- o0o -**

A girl in a frilly dress stood in the rain outside the city, twirling an umbrella. "So this is the Rewinding Town?" she uttered where she stood right outside the barrier.

An unnaturally wide grin spread across her face, twisting her appearance as she reached out towards it. She was met with resistance but pushed through regardless, her skin and clothing seemingly disintegrating as she went through, only to return back to their original state when she made it out to the other side. She licked her lips, her amber-coloured eyes looking around somewhat lazily as she folded the umbrella. "Road Camelot has arrived."

**- o0o -**


	7. The Seventh Testament

...

**- o0o -**

**The Seventh Testament**

**The Curtain Calls**

**- o0o -**

He was standing next to the piano again, thoughtfully running his fingers over blindingly white keys. These last few days had been rather stressful, even though the exorcists had apparently found other locations to investigate as they did not reappear at the circus during any of the more recent versions of October the 28th, but, being forced to repeat basically the same pattern over and over again was indeed taking its toll. After all, it would not do at all to have them realise that he was one of those who remained unaffected by the regularly rewinding time.

Allen sighed heavily before once again lowering the lid onto the keys. He then put his mask back on and draped his substitute cloak over his shoulders, pulling up the hood to almost completely disguise his features. It was still before noon, but at this rate who knew when he could possibly start expecting unwanted company, seeing that he was gradually becoming more and more aware of the fact that there was something else prowling the streets, especially at night, as though the nosy exorcists roaming the place were not enough trouble already. Akuma, perhaps?

It was not impossible, but in case they were Level-Twos or above, then he found himself seriously questioning the very extent of their stupidity. If anything, if they had even the slightest bit of self-preservation, then they should be laying low now that the exorcists were roaming the place. Then again, having encountered quite a few akuma over the years, Allen had little faith in their ability to make rational decisions. As a matter of fact, he was rather surprised that he actually had any faith in them having such ability in the first place. Then again, it was pretty rare for him to actually exchange more than a few words with akuma before sending them back into a state of inexistence and setting the souls trapped within them free to pursue whatever came next. But then again, it was even rarer to find akuma that had anything other than his swift and imminent demise on their minds.

Hence, Allen did not feel that he could fault himself much for not drawing out much on the conversation when it came to fighting them. After all, giving them too much leeway was to be considered the same as giving away part of his own advantage, which was more often than not the element of surprise, as they rarely had anytime to figure out what they were up against before it was already too late. It was such an element of surprise he would very much like to retain, to keep as an ace up his sleeve to be pulled out at a time when it was truly needed, and as such, he had little intention of ever letting the Order learn just who and what he was. Then again, there was also the fact that they were extremely likely to start chasing him around with the intent of bringing him in, and Allen, who had spent quite a few years of his life staying under the radar of said Order and its associates, was not quite feeling up to playing hide and seek for extended periods of time unless he absolutely had to.

Then again, even Allen himself was painfully aware of the fact that he was quite unlikely to be able to stay hidden forever, especially after his activities as of late, even if he had made his mark on the world wearing a mask and had as such bought himself some time, seeing that masks could be worn and discarded at one's own convenience.

Then again, there was just one little problem…

He sighed, picked up a bunch of flyers and set out, leaving the circus tent and the surrounding area behind.

**- o0o -**

"You must really love high places," a cheerful voice said, bringing him out of his lazy reverie.

He looked up, or down to be correct, at the sight of that exorcist girl peering up at him with a smile where he sat on top of a couple of crates outside a closed café. He could say, with all due honesty, that he was not overly surprised at her appearance as he had already caught wind of her scent, one vaguely reminiscent of some sort of flower. Still, noticing her approach was not the same as acknowledging it, so maybe that's why she felt the need to speak to him.

He tilted his head slightly to the side. "I do not love high places any more than I hate being grounded," he eventually responded, smiling mildly. "Or perhaps I merely try to get close to the sky because I envy the birds that have wings to carry them wide and far, to places even I cannot reach? I do wonder why myself."

Stupid questions that weren't really questions deserved stupid answers that weren't really answers, regardless of whether they were asked in order to strike up a conversation with an absolute stranger or not.

"So you're with the circus?"

Again. Another one of those stupid questions that were not really questions.

Allen's smile widened to a grin and he tilted his head to the other side, positively beaming at her from beneath the hood. "Nope, I merely like to dress up and pretend," he responded, still smiling. "Are you a member of the interrogation unit?"

She looked surprised. "Why would I be?"

"Because you ask lots of questions without even introducing yourself," Allen amiably returned.

"Oh…" At least she had the decency to look embarrassed. "I'm Lenalee," she then introduced herself. "I was just wondering if I could have a seat next to you; I lost sight of my companion and I think might get a better view from up there…"

Allen blinked, genuinely surprised for a second before he reached down, holding out his right hand for her to take. For once, the fact that he was stuck in a rewinding town had actually served his purpose, as the wounds on his palms had been sucked back along with the time at the end of the day. Lucky.

"I love high places," Lenalee Lee said as she had taken a seat next to him on top of the stacked crates. "I don't really know why I do, but maybe I just like the view…"

_You're saying those words sitting on top of a couple of mostly empty crates, less than three metres above ground. Are you not even slightly embarrassed?_

Then again, it was probably all an act, an act which had been put in place with the sole purpose of lulling him into some false sense of security before…

"What's your name?" she suddenly asked, turning her head towards him with her eyes full of anticipation.

And, there it was.

"Which one?" Allen returned, smirking. "As an actor, I carry the names of all the parts I play, so which name might you be asking for?"

"Your real one, if you would be so kind," she answered, a light pout present on her face to match the admonishing tone.

_Why ever would I even consider being so kind, exorcist?_

His smirk widened slightly as his Joker persona came into full play; if the female exorcist intended to play him for a fool, however unintentionally, then the least he could do was to return the favour… with interest.

"I've got none," he wistfully replied, gazing up at the sky while desperately trying to contain his amusement. A slight chuckle broke through but he stifled it with his hand. "Or perhaps I did have one," he continued. "…One given to me a long time ago by the mother and father who sold me off to the circus because I was far too much of a disfigured freak to be loved as a son?"

He did not have to look in her direction to be able to tell that she had grown rather pale; he was enjoying this far more than expected. She swallowed soundly, apparently rethinking whether or not she dared ask about it. "Disfigured?" she eventually inquired, her voice little more than a whisper.

Allen smiled blandly at her. "I wear this mask for a reason, you know," he said, tilting his head again. "…As scars are rarely very beautiful to look at."

There. If that level of emotional bullshit virtually made up on spot did not get her off his back regarding his identity and purpose then he would have to get creative, or violent.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realise," she said, finally opting to change the subject. "I was just wondering… have you noticed anything strange going on in this town lately?"

"Why do you ask?" Allen responded, his voice calm but most of his earlier friendliness having diminished.

"Actually…" she started, hesitated a moment, and then started anew. "Actually, my companion and I were sent here to investigate something and we're currently looking for clues, but we haven't found much as of yet so…"

"That's rather vague," Allen commented as he collected the remaining flyers before jumping down. His feet impacted on the ground with a light thud, and only then did he turn slightly. "Then again, if you're looking for something strange, then I suppose that there is one thing…"

Hook.

"Quite some time ago," he continued, looking thoughtful. "In another town, I caught wind of this rumour regarding a white-cloaked figure roaming the surrounding woods at night and that all those who ventured there never returned… and that their clothes were found the following morning alongside piles of ashes…"

Line.

"The White Demon," he said, yawning. "That's what they called it, if I remember correctly, and just the other night when I was out to get some fresh air I found myself face to face with an individual who looked remarkably similar to myself… you know, with the mask and the white cloak and all… it was only that… his was all glowing and stuff, and mine sure isn't…"

Sinker.

"And what happened next?" Lenalee asked, somewhat tense yet seemingly unable to contain herself.

Allen's smile, hidden from her sight, widened almost sinisterly.

**- o0o -**

This was far from the first time that Allen, as Joker or otherwise, had fed some absolutely ridiculous story he had usually crafted on spot to someone he seriously wanted off his tail. Still, Allen could not recall it ever having been this easy, but then again, there was the matter of 'good faith' to consider. On the other hand, it was not exactly his fault – not entirely, at least – that some were actually naïve enough not to realise when someone was just feeding them this great load of bullshit in order to get them to stop asking questions about stuff which was really none of their business.

_The truth can go and screw itself over_, he mentally repeated, because lies held some serious entertainment value. Then again, he was by far not deluded enough to seek to delude himself in regards to the truth, and the truth was that he had seemingly thrown caution to the wind at some point during his stay in the rewinding town, and as such, he had created problems for himself that he could seriously have done without. Then again, in regards to many of the things in question, it was still a bit early to tell exactly which ones had been mistakes and which ones that had been… high-risk investments?

Allen yawned, stretching his stiff limbs before once again setting off in search of some other elevated position where he would be able to slack off and pretend to be working, preferably without the company of exorcists.

**- o0o -**

It was slight, just a vague fluctuation in his surroundings, but he felt it regardless and stopped in his stride, letting his eyes fall shut, putting the visual out of the equation temporarily to allow his other senses to tune in and gradually sharpen. It was not a sound, yet it kind of was, just not one which could be caught by the human ear but still came to resonate within him, ever so clearly when his mind sought out the source. Once he had pinpointed it well enough, he opened his eyes again, staring blankly up ahead for a second or two, to allow his senses to adjust, to synchronise. _Bingo._

Allen would actually care to admit, to himself at least, that he had wondered about the recent movements of the akuma he had vaguely caught the presences of, yet now, his senses had caught onto something else that certainly had not been there before, an anomaly, something which only barely managed to trip his tuned-up senses and something which seemed to almost draw the akuma towards it. Then again, knowing his senses were by no means completely reliable – especially so with his own body slowly but certainly drawing closer to its limits – it was entirely possible that he was mistaken and that he was just imagining it all due to paranoia caused by his abysmal sleeping habits. However, knowing his luck, then it probably wasn't just a figment of his overactive imagination, and as such, he felt that he might as well go and investigate it there and then to find out exactly what he could possibly be up against.

He began to walk again, and passing by a couple of shop windows and catching sight of his own reflection, all guised up and not very inconspicuous at all, and he stopped briefly before heaving another weary sigh, strolling into a narrow alleyway nearby. After having made sure he was not beneath anyone's scrutiny, he swiftly pulled the cloak off and folded it with practiced ease, making it small enough to fit into the multipurpose bag he had gotten down from his shoulder where it had earlier been hidden beneath the cloak. Once that was over with, Allen slowly reached up, dislodging the mask from his face and lowering it slightly, resting his eyes on it for a few moments.

It was strange really, how used he had gotten to wearing it. At times, he even wondered if he still looked the same beneath it all. The thought nearly caused him to snort with laughter as soon as it occurred to him. _Oh God… _

Not that he actually held any particular belief in said sadist in the sky; it was merely a figure of speech, and gosh, that earlier thought of his had been absolutely hilarious for some reason. Really, it took a great deal of self-control for him not to burst out laughing then and there.

Allen snorted, shoving the mask into the bag before slinging the bag over his shoulder, staring up into the cloudy skies with a somewhat weary look on his face. _I think I may be going a bit crazy…_

He shifted his weary eyes onto the nearest building, his eyes wandering up the wall. Then, he sighed, strolling off in the direction he had come from, tracing back to the spot where he could vaguely recall having seen a ladder. _These buildings are way too tall_, he decided.

**- o0o -**

Admittedly, climbing up a ladder in broad daylight was not the most discreet thing Allen could had done. Then again, as he with practiced ease climbed it and heaved himself up onto the roof in virtually no time at all, Allen was honestly glad that he hadn't gone for a more covert route simply to be discreet. Besides, the thought of climbing up a chimney was not an overly tempting one, especially not since it was not a very discreet one in the longer term, seeing that someone might just want to know why he was covered in soot and all. Also, there was that minor thing that he had a certain tendency of turning borderline claustrophobic whenever he was shut into dark cramped spaces.

He shoved the thought away, not wanting to be reminded of such things, as he crouched down in the shadow of a chimney, with the intent both to stay hidden and to try to relocate the odd sounds or signals or whatever they were before he continued his search. After a few moments, he reopened his eyes, staring blankly at the roofing tiles at his feet for a second before he was fully back in the present, turning his eyes elsewhere. _They're gone._

Allen frowned lightly, but a quick check confirmed his earlier observation. This puzzled him, but he still didn't get out of hiding even though it seemed as though his prey had left the premises prematurely. There was still something bothering him.

It took every inch of his self-control not to flinch when there was suddenly something slightly pointy resting against his throat and a heavy sigh nearly escaped him. _Well… I suppose I should have expected this._

**- o0o -**


	8. The Eighth Testament

…

**- o0o -**

**The Eighth Testament**

– **The Opening Act, Part I – **

**The White Demon**

**- o0o -**

"_I don't want to get involved…"_

**- o0o -**

A smirk found its way to his lips as he leapt onto another roof, running along the rooftops in direction of more familiar territory, while at the same time aiming to put a bit more distance between himself and the insanely persistent sword-carrying exorcist, who less than half an hour ago had tried his luck in terms of attempting to sever Allen's , Allen was asking himself why he was still smirking under these utterly troublesome and possibly dire circumstances. Still, having determined that the distance between him and his unwanted pursuer was just about right, he took to the air for one last leap and upon his landing on the next roof, he was back in the shape of the Crowned Clown.

His pursuer let out some sort of shout, stopping briefly at the sight of his transformation.

Allen's smirk widened to a grin, and then things started all over again.

For better or worse, things had certainly gotten more interesting.

**- o0o -**

If there truly was a time when to throw all caution to the wind, maybe this was it?

_Maybe it is_, Allen silently mused as he evaded yet another strike directed at his vitals.

Maybe this moment really was the right time to discard whatever plans and notions had occupied his skull day in and day out, leading him nowhere but deeper and deeper into the abyss of questionable sanity. He needed his freedom, yet here he was still trapped within and it was driving him steadily towards the edge.

For the longest time, he had focused on other matters, trying to keep himself occupied in order not to think much about his own situation. However, maybe this was truly the time to take a just few more desperate measures…

A light chuckle rose from his throat, its sound tickling at his senses. Then, his eyes narrowed predatorily and he lashed out, finally foregoing his defensive and evasive strategy to switch over to a slightly more offensive one. However, he had only just about dealt his opponent the decisive blow when his senses caught onto something approaching swiftly, and in response, he retreated, doing a back flip just in time to avoid something as it whizzed past him in the air.

Immediately upon touching ground, Allen shielded himself in the case of any further incoming attacks. However, he was honestly surprised when no such attacks were directed towards him.

Having gained enough time to make a swift but proper analysis of the situation, Allen made some swift observations and drew some swift conclusions. He did not dwell much on them however, opting to go for a strategic retreat until he had obtained some new intelligence, now that his adversary had oh-so-conveniently been tied up elsewhere. And with that kind of vaguely established plan in mind, Allen went for the seemingly fastest getaway route which was available to him, which just happened to be down a nearby chimney. Thankfully, the cloak of his still activated Innocence shielded him from most of the soot, and before long, he rolled out on the floor in the pub down below before getting to his feet in a surprisingly elegant motion, returning to his Joker persona as he elegantly handed out flyers to the still somewhat baffled audience that had accidentally come to witness his grand and utterly unintentional entrance.

Then, under the guise of seemingly having accomplished his purpose, he exited the pub after having bowed courteously before his audience before leaving, getting as far as into a nearby alley before he shed his cloaked disguise, brushing remnants of soot and ashes out of his hair and from his pieces of clothing. _Well… that went down far more smoothly than expected…_

And then, he continued on his way, but before long he sensed that something was awry.

Someone was watching. He didn't turn around, closing his eyes instead to try to sense them.

Akuma. They were trailing just beyond the reach of his senses, appearing like flickering shadows in his consciousness, but there was something else, something beyond that… something truly dangerous.

There was a decision to be made, and he needed to make it quickly.

Attack was the best defence after all.

**- o0o -**

Lenalee Lee sighed deeply where she sat, nursing a cup of coffee while waiting for her companion to turn up at the small indoor café which had been their agreed meeting place. It was already almost half an hour past the agreed meeting time when the door suddenly slammed open and a dirty and positively livid Kanda Yu entered, looking rather like he had dived down a chimney for no particular reason and been burnt while doing it.

Lenalee got up at the sight of him, opening her mouth to ask about it, but refrained in doing so when the other positively glared at her before taking the seat at her opposite, crossing his arms and stubbornly ignoring all the strange looks people were sending their way. "Um…" she started, not entirely sure as how to phrase what she had been meaning to say. "I take it you have had more luck than I had in finding something out of the ordinary…"

Kanda Yu looked up sharply in response, glaring long and hard at her before directing his glare elsewhere and then proceeded to stare at a nearby window-pane as though it had somehow offended him greatly, but he offered her no answer.

"I met that Joker guy we met at the circus earlier…" Lenalee started, observing how the other's facial expression darkened. "And he told me something very interesting…"

Kanda returned his glare towards her. "Get to the damn point."

Lenalee sighed. "Kanda, there is no need to be rude," she admonished him, and his eyes narrowed slightly in response.

"Get to the damn point… please," he then hissed, looking as though uttering 'please' was enough to make him want to vomit.

Lenalee Lee however, who was quite used to Kanda's antics, just smiled slightly in response, silently marvelling over the fact that she had once again managed to make the other behave at least somewhat civilly for once. "Anyways, I talked to this Joker guy," she continued, raising the cup of coffee to her lips. "And, he told me about this rumour he had heard…"

"Rumour?" Kanda dutifully repeated.

"A rumour about a white-cloaked figure roaming the night," she continued, stirring her cup of coffee. "He referred to it as 'The White Demon'…"

Kanda looked up sharply. "White Demon?"

"Yes," Lenalee replied, recalling the other things Joker had said. "People tended to disappear at night in areas it appeared… and that their clothes were found later on alongside piles of ashes…"

Kanda stood up suddenly, causing Lenalee to look up at him in question. "This Joker guy told you that?" he questioned, seemingly impatient.

"He did," Lenalee affirmed, frowning slightly. "What about it?"

"And this so called 'White Demon' also wore a white cloak and a mask?" Kanda questioned, turning so that he almost had his back to her.

Lenalee's frown deepened. "Yes," she then answered, silently wondering just where he was trying to lead the conversation. "He claimed to have seen it just the other night… "

"Oh, he did, did he?" Kanda asked.

Lenalee looked up at the tone that he was using. Although she could not see his face, she could still pretty much tell what kind of expression he was wearing at that very moment and it was not one she liked. Then, she put her cup of coffee back onto the table with a bit more force than was necessary. "Kanda! Stop acting like an idiot!" she said. "It's true. He told me so. It had him by the throat and kept on asking him about Innocence! Innocence! Why would anyone lie about something like that?"

"You're too gullible," Kanda said in response, deadpan, turning around to give her a look.

Lenalee opened her mouth to protest, but he spoke again before she was able to. The things he told her made her mouth fall agape. "Are you completely sure about this?" she said, eyes wide in disbelief.

"They had the same presence," Kanda responded. "And I caught a glimpse of an inverted pentagram on his forehead before he transformed, and a bunch of other akuma was swarming around him."

"But, he bled back when we first fought him!" Lenalee insisted, paling. "Akuma's should bleed Dark Matter, not blood!"

"The corpse could still be fresh enough to have some blood in it," Kanda suggested, watching as Lenalee looked even more sickened.

"But…" she began. "But he…"

What else she meant to say was lost when a sudden noise, vaguely reminiscent of some sort of explosion, assaulted her ears and she got up, startled and somewhat unsteady for some reason. "What was that?" she asked, her eyes wide.

Kanda grunted out some sort of response, but she didn't catch it, and before long both of them were out the door, intent on finding out what had occurred.

**- o0o –**

Miranda Lotto looked up, startled at the sudden sound for a moment before she once again returned to what she had been doing previously, pacing back and forth in her apartment and biting her nails while doing so. She stopped, turned around and looked towards the old Grandfather clock where it stood against the wall, counting the time that was left before yet another rewind.

"Please," she whispered, tears rising in her eyes as she approached it. "Please… let Allen be okay… don't let anything bad happen to him… don't let any of my bad luck affect him… I know I can't do anything right but please don't-…"

"I know I'm useless but…" she said, looking up at the clock.

She turned around and looked at the pile of cloth that lay next to the window. It was her costume – her unfinished stage costume – which lay there on the floor, discarded, waiting to be picked up and finished some day, waiting in vain for a day that would never come; an utterly useless unfinished ugly piece of fabric, which would be of use to anyone, ever, just like her.

Miranda shook her head fervently, trying to shake the thought loose where it had seemingly edged itself into her brain, repeatedly engraving itself and leaving ugly scars in its wake. No, she had to stop thinking those thoughts. She had to believe; she had to believe in herself, just like Allen had said, just like Allen had told her to. _Allen…_

She knew next to nothing about him, even though she had spent many days with him as her sole companion, but still she felt as though she would willingly put her own life in his hands. To her, it seemed as though there was always this strange calm atmosphere around him; regardless of the situation, to her he almost always came across as one unaffected by the world, as someone who could live on their own and never be lonely. Miranda wished she could be like that. She wished that she too could enter a lion's cage without fear, that she could stand tall and unwavering when people yelled at her or called her useless. She wished, but she lacked courage.

She stepped towards the pile of fabric on the floor, bending down to pick up the mask that lay partially hidden beneath the folds of fabric. She looked down at it where it lay in her hands. "I don't want to be useless," she said, turning back to face the clock.

She brought out the Grandfather clock's key from beneath her clothes, where it had hung around her neck so long without her realising it, and she approached the clock, holding the key firmly in her hands, trying to keep them from shaking.

**- o0o -**

"_This clock contains Innocence."_

"_Innocence?"_

"_Listen."_

**- o0o -**

"_The Innocence reacts to your feelings."_

**- o0o -**

_I want to change._

She pushed the key in, twisted it around, and the world changed.

**- o0o -**

Miranda twisted the key and then reached towards the clock face, starting to push the hands of time backwards, experiencing a strange rush as the flow of time once again changed. The further back she went, the more tedious the task itself seemed and she experienced a kind of fatigue she had never encountered before, not even after countless of sleepless nights which she had spent worrying about the future, but she did not stop, knowing somehow that she needed to continue rewinding the clock until it read the same as when the whole mess had begun.

She rewound it another hour, feeling how the clock hands got heavier and harder to turn each and every time, as if time itself attempted to resist her, but she still kept on going until the clock hands would budge no more and her own hands lacked the strength to continue. Tears once again started assembling in her eyes, but these were ones of frustration rather than sadness. "Innocence…" she said, her voice barely rising above a whisper. "Please… please just… please just listen to me… listen to my wish… please…"

She held onto the clock hands until she could hold on no more, upon which she crumbled, falling from the chair and onto the floor in a pitiful heap where she then lay, trembling. Miranda did not know for how long she lay there on the floor, but shrill laughter – expressing the highest kind of amusement – eventually brought her out of her reverie.

A frilly-clad girl was in the room, leaning her chin onto her folded umbrella as she looked down upon her with a pair of cold amber-coloured eyes.

And then, she knew no more.

**- o0o -**

Allen twisted his body around, using the force of gravity to his advantage as he struck down. The akuma actually managed to parry the blow, something which surprised him somewhat, but he paid it little heed in that moment as he was far too busy evading attacks directed at his person.

Three akuma. Three puny Level-Twos.

Allen failed to see why he was having even the slightest amount of trouble in dealing with them. Special abilities aside, they shouldn't have been able to do much against him, yet, here they were, keeping him on his toes. _No…_

He evaded another attack, ducked down and launched a strike, but they pulled back in time, avoiding it. Were they getting faster? _It's not them…_

He could feel his heart beating fast and erratically, barely covering up the sound of his own strained breathing. It was weird. The sounds were all getting distorted, echoing in his ears as though they were all very distant, as though they were all just auditory enough, his eyes followed his ears, and his vision blurred momentarily.

Realising what was about to occur, Allen gritted his teeth, bracing himself. He parried another attack, barely managing to avoid being cut up by a couple of sickles while he was at it before he once again engaged in a fight with the akuma. Still, he was not late to realise – even in his deteriorating state – that he was forgetting something essential. _The third-…!_

It was already upon him, having crept up from behind. "Die!"

Allen's eyes widened, and he went with the first thing that came to mind when he caught sight of a sharp piece of metal rushing towards him, guided in that direction by the very nemesis he had faced earlier on. He ducked, evading the fate of being impaled and embracing the one of narrowly escaping to the side, continuing off into that direction until he reached a big chimney, using it to keep him steady while he assessed the new situation which was at hand with the arrival of the exorcists. _Well… shit._

It was a fair assessment of the situation, overall. His heart was still beating madly, as though it was trying to escape his chest. _Oh crap…_

His body appeared to be about to go into some kind of shock, and Allen instinctively knew he had to get away from there before it did. Closing his eyes, he focused his mind on the task which lay ahead; everything else just consisted of obstacles, obstacles he needed to overcome or avoid. His breathing calmed, and it was as though time itself slowed down as well, and he was finally able to think clearly again. He opened his eyes, assessing the so called battlefield on the rooftops and the participating parties for a moment. Then, at a moment where the combatants seemed appropriately occupied with each other, he turned around and approached the ledge. His senses tingled again, signalling the approach of danger. Then, he jumped.

**- o0o -**


	9. The Ninth Testament

…

**- o0o -**

**The Ninth Testament**

– **The Opening Act, Part II – **

**The Eleventh Hour**

**- o0o -**

He silently lay in wait, hiding behind a small case of stairs, waiting for his body to calm down and for it to recover to some degree before he moved on. Still, even though he had still managed to pull a strategic retreat at the right second and managed to put some distance in-between himself and the still ongoing battle, he was by no means very satisfied with the outcome of the situation.

_I do come across as rather pathetic, don't I?,_ he silently mused where he sat, his knees drawn up to his chin and his head tilted backwards, looking up at the somewhat dreary-looking sky.

Evidently, he did not deal well with being in a state reminiscent of captivity; he needed his freedom, and shut inside the town as he had been for what felt like weeks, stuck repeating the same day over and over, his mental and physical health had already become compromised. _Still, of all times to experience a backlash…_

For some odd reason, he had trouble restraining his laughter, and imagined – just for fun – how yet another crack had appeared on his general sanity, which had been a quite dodgy thing from the very beginning. He sighed, using his sleeve to wipe his mouth, clearing away the remnants of the blood he had coughed up only a few minutes previously. Taking this into consideration, Allen supposed that it might be a good idea to keep his Innocence activated at an absolute minimum in the future, as he did not fancy the idea of coughing up blood simply because of a little overuse.

Evidently, he had experienced a few backlashes in the past, but those had only ever taken place post-battle, when he would be able to take care of it and rest without having to risk facing the possible repercussions of running into another enemy. In a worst case scenario, he could no doubt end up exerting himself with one enemy, only to be caught in a weakened state by another.

In a one-on-one battle under normal circumstances, Allen knew that he in general had little to worry about, as the thing with fighters was the same as with most other things; if they were weak, they generally stuck together and if they were strong they generally fought alone. People who perceived themselves as stronger than others could be added into teams, yet more often than not they did not fight as such. Several strong and headstrong individuals in one team would no doubt result in clashes between individual members, as combining different individual fighting styles into a common one was very difficult. It was the same with performers at the circus, and Allen, considering himself somewhat of an individualist by nature, performed better alone.

_I am a solitary existence, a one-man team… swearing no allegiances and taking orders from no one… except when it suits my purposes…_

He looked up, turning his attention to the left.

A grey cat sat there on the steps, looking down at him somewhat curiously with its bright yellowish eyes. Allen slowly raised his hand up to its level, and it pulled away momentarily. Then, it moved closer again, nuzzling his hand in greeting. Somewhat absentmindedly, he began to scratch its chin, earning some purring in return. Then, quite suddenly, the cat went silent and its ears moved slightly before it turned, directing its eyes elsewhere, its pupils narrowing to slits. Its tail twitched slightly before stilling, as the creature moved, lowering itself slightly and assuming a position in which it seemed ready to pounce.

Allen, temporarily caught up in his observations, remained still in his position even as he caught sight of the alley rat as it crept closer and closer to its imminent demise, as it seemed far too concerned with examining some pieces of garbage nearby to notice the two pairs of eyes staring at it. One pair of eyes was hungry and belonged to a cat, while the other pair was filled with idle curiosity, belonging to Allen Walker.

The rat looked up, finally noticing the threat looming from above. However, the cat had already launched its assault and wasted little time to strike its claws into the smaller creature as it cried out, attempting to make its escape, all while Allen continued watching, even as the cat started playing with its injured prey, seemingly intent on having some fun with it before killing and eating it.

For some odd reason, Allen found that he would have been unable to look away from the scene. Something about it enticed him, catching and keeping his attention even though he could instinctively tell that there were other matters of greater importance to tend to. He continued to watch as the cat apparently grew tired of playing and how it proceeded to swallow what little remained of its makeshift toy, licking its lips with a seeming contentedness apparent in its demeanour. Then, the yellowish eyes turned towards him yet again. Allen returned the look, watching the cat as it sat down again, beginning to clean itself, its tail still twitching with excitement. Again, he put out his hand. The cat stopped what it was doing, got up and advanced on him, its tail held high, stopping only when it had reached his hand and nuzzled it slightly.

"Should I stop fooling around?" Allen suddenly asked, directing himself to no one in particular.

The cat eyed him curiously for a moment before it went back to marking him with its scent.

He tilted his head slightly backwards again, directing his eyes skyward towards the rooftops. The sound of approaching footsteps echoed in his ears, and his eyes narrowed slightly in response. _I don't want to get involved…_

He gave the cat one last caress before sending it on his way, rising to his feet and turning to greet his most recent opponent as it exited seemingly from the shadows themselves.

Amber eyes glimmered, but Allen remained impassive even as they approached.

**- o0o -**

_But…_

**- o0o -**

_It'll be farther to turn back now than to move forward…_

**- o0o -**

Allen Walker opened his eyes with a weary sigh, steadily growing wearier by the second. However, alongside the weariness, impatience made itself reminded like a never-ceasing itch in some place seemingly unreachable. He wanted little more than to spring from his current position and plunge himself into the abyss that lay beyond the stage which he had somewhat reluctantly stepped upon, though in truth, he was merely thinking about how nicely it would have been if he could have just rewound time and prevented himself from ever getting involved in this mess in the first place.

As with the whole Joker business and all, although masks could be worn and discarded at one's own convenience and although Allen himself had mostly made his mark on the world while wearing one, he had not covered his tracks well enough. _Not even nearly well enough…_

In retrospect, Allen supposed that it may have been quite foolish to take on the mask of Joker without having much of a plan in the first place, and in silence, he found himself cursing his own negligence. On the other hand though, before this whole affair had turned up on his figurative doorstep, he had never really had much reason to keep the different personas separated in the first place. It was only now that a troublesome few – that is to say, already far too many – had caught a glimpse of his real face and possibly ruined his chances of keeping Allen Walker out of the spotlight. _So much for that…_

Allen shifted slightly in his seat, tilting his head mildly to the side as he surveyed the scene before him from the throne-like armchair in which he currently resided, looking down at the miserable state of his currently indisposed foes.

The two exorcists – affectionately referred to as Ms. Cheerful and Mr. Grumpy, as he had temporarily misplaced their actual names – were obviously in for a quite rude awakening sometime in the near future, as they were about to find themselves captured and nailed to the wall through some half-arsed crucifixion, courtesy of their darling hostess.

Said darling hostess, a frilly-clad female of a seemingly younger model who went by the name of Road – seemed to take a great deal of pleasure and amusement in nailing people to walls with nails and some sort of pointed candles. Hence, Allen was rather glad that he was attending this particular gathering as a mostly uninvolved bystander rather than as an involuntary guest, though perhaps he was in reality a bit of both.

The events taking place after his little run-in with the akuma and the exorcists had been both surprisingly pleasant and surprisingly unpleasant, all at the same time. Perhaps it was the whole element of surprise that had made him so ill at ease with his current company, however, all indications pointed towards him being ill at ease because of the rather peculiar behaviour his hostess displayed in his immediate vicinity.

It was peculiar in the sense that it displayed hints of a strange kind of familiarity which was, in truth, kind of freaking him out. Yet, at the same time, taking the new pieces of intelligence which had reached him into consideration, maybe the girl's familiarity with his character and state of being was not so peculiar after all.

Allen sighed again, leaning his elbow onto one of the armrests before resting his chin on his hand, looking thoughtful. _When I get out of this situation, the bastard who indirectly put me here is going down._

But until then, Allen supposed he just had to play his part and lay in wait for an opportunity to either slip away quietly and leave things to be resolved on their own without any meddling on his part, or he would do pretty much the same only with a somewhat flashier exit.

Allen's eyes fell on the heap on the floor, at the motionless form of Miranda where she lay next to the clock which was the source of his troubles, or at least the source of some of his more recent ones. He sighed inwardly.

Without the Innocence running haywire within a restricted area, Black Order nuisances would not have arrived in town and neither would an emissary of the supposed Anti-Christ himself have found it necessary to drop by, if not for such an unusual and thoroughly annoying occurrence, the supposed Anti-Christ of course being the Millennium Earl, or simply 'The Duke' as he was seemingly referred to as by his vicious two-faced little disciple.

Maybe his assessment of Road Camelot was not an entirely fair one, yet in his defence Allen would be able to claim that this assessment relied almost entirely upon what he had been able to discern from their initial encounter, if said encounter truly had been their first, that is. After all, at times, his memories were not all that reliable.

Allen sighed inwardly again, contemplating his next move. Then, he looked up at the sound of someone groaning.

It appeared as though at least one of the exorcists had decided to rejoin the living and the wakeful.

It was about damn time. "Oh, awake already?"

A growl. The exorcist in question both looked and sounded astonishingly feral. Had Allen not had his eyes tell him about the other's shape of being, even he would have had trouble figuring out just what kind of feral beast had produced such a sound, and he had a hard time not to snicker at this.

"The speed of your recovery is astounding," Road continued, also seemingly amused by the feral display, especially as her comment was answered by another growl and some gibberish which did sound an awful lot like some kind of swearwords.

Then, Road turned, moved swiftly and the next second she had already relocated herself onto one of the armchair's armrests, her slender arms encircling Allen's neck and shoulders in some kind of hug. "Don't you think so too, Joker?" she then asked, alternating between looking at him and at the exorcist in question.

It was only his regained sense of self-control that kept him there in that position, as he had determined that the fastest way out of the situation was to play along with the rules of the game. Had this not been on his mind, then his flight reflexes would no doubt have kicked in at the suddenness of her rather extreme proximity.

Having deactivated his Innocence, he had once again donned his regular Joker outfit. Having decided that if he was to be a part of a game he might as well participate in it in a role which was more suited for the purpose than his regular persona, he was not all that disappointed in the reaction his presence managed to stir in the temporarily incapacitated and restrained exorcist.

"You…" the exorcist – Kanda Yu, his mind supplied – growled, his voice thick with loathing. "What the fuck are you?"

Road giggled slightly, but fell silent when Allen reached up to dislodge himself from her restraining arms, opting to rise to his feet. She let go, seemingly reluctant to do so, and then continued observing as he made his way up towards the exorcists, stopping about a metre or so away from the prisoners. "I am who I am," Allen responded with a mild shrug. "And I am what I am."

"Coward," the exorcist hissed, pulling at his restraints. "A fucked-up bloody cowardly-…"

"Strategist," Allen responded with a small laugh. "I have a tendency of choosing my battles rather than barging into things… not that I would expect an exorcist such as yourself to understand…"

The exorcist sent him a withering glare, eyes narrowing.

"The curtain is calling," Allen continued, stepping closer. "For the actors to assemble…"

"To act out the script devised by the Duke," Road finished from her position in the armchair, her eyes twinkling sinisterly.

Allen was so close by then, close enough to put his hand out to touch the other, when he paused in his movements. Then, he put his hand out towards the exorcist, grinning mockingly at him from beneath the hood. "Will you do me the honour of the first dance, exorcist?"

**- o0o -**

There had been too many theatrics, even for his taste, but they achieved their purpose in the end so Allen supposed they were not a complete waste after all.

He calmly deposited a fairly small but heavy bag of coins into Road's waiting hands. "Tell the Duke that he is to consider my debt paid back in full, with interest."

Road smiled almost mischievously at him before turning and disappearing through one of her doors, which then faded out of existence, restoring the room to its place in the real world.

Miranda looked at him, hesitant and a little wary, but in truth he had expected as much.

He sighed inwardly, resisting an urge to scratch the back of his head. _Alright… time to move on…_

He took a step forward, in direction of the door. He stopped only when he was on the threshold, turning his head to glance at her where she stood, not having moved from her previous spot but looking at him all the same, looking rather pitiful in his opinion. Abandoned, like a sad little puppy in the rain. No… like a tiny little kitten, starved for affection, left out in the world with no one to take care of it.

Allen sighed, cursing his own inability to stay uninvolved. And, after a brief moment of contemplation, he cursed his inability to resist becoming emotionally invested in small felines' general wellbeing as well. _To Hell with it all…_

"If you want to come along, then go ahead," he said. "But decide quickly."

Time, as it had once again returned to its normal non-repetitive flow, was no longer their ally. It was only a question of time before the exorcists regained their senses and recovered enough presence of mind to find their location. Time was running out, and he needed to move forward, with or without her.

She hesitated, fidgeting. "Is this… really alright with you?"

He remained where he was, stealing a glance at her in the corner of his eye, silent.

"Can I really… go with you?" she asked, looking at him.

He barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Then, he turned his head slightly in her direction, briefly meeting her gaze before directing his own elsewhere. "I hate repeating myself," he stated, somewhat resignedly. "Tag along if you like, stay if you like, but decide quickly."

She took a step forward. Then, she hesitated again, glancing towards the old grandfather clock where it still stood with its back to the wall, ticking on and on in its seeming innocence. "What about…?"

Funnily enough, Allen had almost forgotten all about that heinous device which had landed him in this troublesome situation to begin with. "It would most certainly be a hindrance if we brought the entire thing along," he said, turning around fully to study it, alternating between looking at the object in question and Miranda. "What will you do?"

Miranda glanced at the clock again, and a faint smile appeared on her face. Then she walked up to it, laying her hands on it. "This clock… was the first to acknowledge me…" she said. "But… I think that it'd like me to follow my own wishes…"

He looked at her, gauging her level of determination."Are you sure?"

She nodded. "Yes."

He received the key, stepping up on a chair. He pushed the key in and twisted it, and after some resistance it gave in and opened up. He reached in, dislodging the piece of Innocence before carefully pulling it out, placing it into Miranda's upturned palms. "Here you go."

She stood silent for a while, simply staring at the object in her hands. "It's more beautiful than I thought it would be…" she then said, with a hint of awe in her voice. "It's…"

Miranda looked up at the clock again, and then back what lay in her hands, silent.

"We'll find another medium for it eventually…" Allen said, stretching his sore limbs. "Now let's go before any more troubles reach our doorstep."

She nodded, picking up the small suitcase of her most necessary belongings. She then opened it, just enough so that she could slip the piece of Innocence into it, before once again shutting it and locking it for good measure.

"Are you ready to set off?" Allen asked with a hint of amusement.

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be," Miranda responded, taking a somewhat shaky breath which betrayed her lingering nervousness. "What will we do if your boss doesn't-…?"

A grin, one which appeared both sinister and oddly sincere, appeared on his face. "Oh don't worry," he said, chuckling. "I have a plan."

**- o0o -**


	10. The Tenth Testament

…

**- o0o -**

**The Tenth Testament**

– **The Second Act – **

**The Die is Cast**

**- o0o -**

"Worthless."

Kanda swore under his breath, unwinding the bloodied bandages and discarding them on the floor in a messy heap, all while his only observer was surprisingly silent, eyeing every frustrated move he made with keen interest. Eventually, Kanda had enough of it. "What the fuck are you doing here, _Baka Usagi_?" he hissed, addressing the bandana-and-eye-patch-wearing redheaded freak in question.

"It's nice to see you too, Yu," Lavi responded, tilting his head to the side.

As a conditioned response, Kanda's fingers were already edging towards his sword where it lay next to him on the bed.

"Still," Lavi persisted somewhat thoughtfully, seemingly unaware as to how close at hand his imminent demise was. "It's unusual for you to fail like this on a mission…"

Kanda twitched at this, and his hands edged even closer to their goal, barely and only just barely restrained by his common sense. His common sense in return supplied that if he was going to kill the annoying rabbit off, he needed to do so on a mission and make it look like an accident unless he wanted to be faced with some sort of inquiry, or a court martial or whatever one would call them. He continued unwrapping the bandages, his mind set on ignoring the Bookman's apprentice, something which said apprentice was making very difficult with his constant prattling about annoying things Kanda himself didn't want to hear about and even less wanted to think about until he had some object he would be allowed to release all his built-up frustration on.

"I heard from the Old Man that you encountered a Noah," Lavi continued.

Kanda didn't answer, placing feeble hopes in that the annoyance would go away and annoy someone else if he just ignored its presence long enough. It obviously didn't work.

"The Noah clan…" Lavi started, but then he went silent once more. Once he spoke up again, he had already switched the subject. "This guy – this _White Demon_ – you encountered…" he said, looking out the window with a thoughtful look on his face. "What was your impression of him?"

Kanda snorted. Maybe he should try and adopt another strategy. Maybe if he humoured the redheaded idiot he'd stop being so bloody persistent. "Shifty," he then growled. "Strange aura. Annoying."

"What did he look like?" Lavi then asked, seemingly curious.

Kanda swiftly concluded that his most recent strategy was a failure. "White hair," he responded. "Greyish eyes… an inverted pentagram on his forehead… scarred."

Lavi turned his head to look straight at him, his single visible emerald eye widening slightly. "Short?"

Kanda nodded begrudgingly.

"Travelling with a dark-haired woman dressed in black and violet?"

Kanda looked up, with a dawning sense of realisation. He grabbed his sword and was about to exit the room, only to be faced with a vertically challenged old man otherwise known as Bookman.

"Whoa… you really should have told us about this earlier, Yu," Lavi continued, and from his tone of voice Kanda could tell that the idiot was positively leering at him. "Because the Old Man and I met them earlier… at the town gates, heading in the opposite direction…"

**- o0o -**

"Is this really okay?" Miranda asked, fidgeting a bit where she sat in the small horse-drawn cart, watching Allen as he held the reins to direct the horse. "Leaving like that…"

"It's okay," Allen responded, a grin threatening to break out on his face. "As a matter of fact, it's more than okay; I've wanted to do this for ages…"

Miranda still looked a bit ill at ease, every now and then looking back at her hometown as it grew more and more distant.

"He has been holding in on my salary these days," Allen continued, referring to the Ringmaster, still sounding quite amused. "I don't feel obliged to keep agreements with people who try to take me for a fool."

Evidently, presented with such a golden opportunity as this one, he probably would not have had any qualms about it even if the Ringmaster had kept his promises; the man was an outright greedy bastard after all. Besides, with his identity recently having been compromised, it was only natural for him to break camp and move on, before the pawns of the Order turned up looking for him.

Heading eastward seemed to be a far more sensible option to staying in Europe. The further away he got from the Vatican sphere of influence, the better. Evidently, he suspected that the Black Order had branches on virtually all continents in the known world, but in terms of influence then anywhere but Europe was definitely preferable, the less Christian, the better.

Besides, he had always wanted to see the countries some of the more exotic animals of the circus had come from, at least those which had not been bred in captivity. Quite a few of them were from Africa as far as Allen was aware, but he was more interested in going Asia and more specifically to the Indian sub-continent or to China.

Allen snuck a glance towards his silent companion where she still sat, looking back at the life she had just left behind. _ Right_, Allen silently mused. _What was I supposed to do with her again?_

**- o0o -**

Allen supposed that he had gotten involved from the start partly due to curiosity on his part, along with his rather intense wish to see the whole situation resolved as soon as possible. Yet now that it had technically been solved – maybe not in an entirely good way but at least not in an entirely bad way either – he found himself with some additional baggage he could very much have done without. _A-ah, screw it. The choice has been made. What ifs can go and screw themselves over…_

Besides, not travelling alone might even have its advantages. Maybe. He was not entirely convinced. Definitely not. A part of him couldn't help but be slightly curious as to how things would turn out, and besides, if things didn't work out then there were always other options.

Either way, idle curiosity was fine in itself. However, it was still a well-known fact that too much curiosity could be deadly. It did kill the cat, did it not? So what would it not be able to kill a human? Still, humans were bound to be curious in one way or the other; it was a part of their nature.

Human nature. Allen had spent a large part of his life observing different aspects of it, yet there were many things he still did not understand. Some things were simple; other weren't. At times, he had been caught up in figuring out what drove people forward, what made them go on living. Other times, he honestly could not care less about what drove others, at least not beyond what could be manipulated to suit his own purposes. The things that drove others, and himself too to a certain extent, were all the same anyway; different people were driven by different things, but in the end the basic forces all the same. Basic human needs and greed; that's what moved humanity, along with conceived notions of affection and loathing. That was about the gist of it, and exploring the matter any further would be an utter waste of time because what Allen wished to find out lay elsewhere.

For the longest time, he had striven to remain uninvolved, attempting to remain as an idle observer, hiding behind the mask of an assumed role, moving only for his own sake…

But, maybe he should try it out after all, at least for a bit longer…

Being human, that is.

**- o0o -**

"_A couple of days ago, General Kevin Yeegar was attacked."_

**- o0o -**

"_They've started targeting the Generals?"_

**- o0o -**

"_I have dispatched all exorcists in small groups to find and guard each General. However, there is another matter at hand…"_

**- o0o -**

"_General Cross Marian, who has been missing for more than five years, recently left behind a paper trail. Also, he was reportedly witnessed making a visit to some castle in Romania."_

**- o0o -**

"_I intend to send you, Lenalee, Lavi and Bookman over there to investigate, and if possible, I want you to track down the General and bring him back with you when you return to Headquarters."_

**- o0o -**

"_I'm a member of the Tiedoll's Unit."_

**- o0o -**

"_We don't have enough people, due to a recent decrease in the work force."_

**- o0o -**

"_Kanda… Daisya and Marie will handle Tiedoll. Hunting down Cross will likely take more resources and effort, hence the reason as to why I want you on the mission."_

**- o0o -**

"_Tch."_

**- o0o -**

Miranda stared, wide-eyed, at the vast selection of clocks in a vast number of shapes and sizes. Then she turned, facing him. "Can I really pick whichever one I like?" she asked, looking mildly hesitant yet oddly excited all at once.

"I owe you a new one, don't I?" Allen responded, leaning against the doorframe of the clockmaker's shop, idly observing his surroundings. "Do as you like."

She glanced up at an old grandfather clock, one looking very much like the one which she had left behind.

Allen sighed, going outside to wait. _As expected, people won't change that easily…_

Yet, several minutes later, Miranda exited the shop with a pocket watch hung around her neck like a necklace. Allen smiled approvingly. "Looks good on you," he noted, and he wasn't lying either; it did look good on her, especially since it seemed to lift her spirits somewhat which was surprisingly nice for a change, as he had seen her quite gloomy recently. Then again, considering her track record of gloominess, the gloomy episode in question had no doubt been a minor one.

At least she looked happier now than she had initially; Allen supposed he cared about it because travelling with a gloomy companion increased the risk of he himself coming to share that same state of mind, a fate which he would very much like to avoid.

Caught up in his thoughts as he was, he probably failed to notice the blush which had rapidly spread across her cheeks.

**- o0o -**

"_Lord Aleister…"_

**- o0o -**

"_I fear… I've become a vampire again…"_

**- o0o -**

"_He is already dead, my Lord…"_

**- o0o -**

"_I shall bury him with the others…"_

**- o0o -**

"_What kind of monster have I become?"_

**- o0o -**

"_It can't be helped… my Lord…"_

**- o0o -**

"_Don't come near me! Please! Don't!"_

**- o0o -**

"_I love you too, Lord Aleister."_

**- o0o -**

"_Let's live together in this castle forever and every… who cares about the outside world? It means nothing to us now…"_

**- o0o -**

_A torch-bearing mob, armed with pitchforks._

_Dark-clad youngsters, bearing the rose-cross – exorcists._

**- o0o -**

_"Kill them, Lord Aleister… Please…"_

**- o0o -**

_"But…"_

**- o0o -**

_"If you don't… They'll kill us…"_

**- o0o -**

_"You're a vampire, Lord Aleister… You're their enemy…"_

**- o0o -**

_"But I…"_

**- o0o -**

_"Drink some of my blood… Just a little bit, so that it won't kill me… so that we can live together in this castle forever…"_

**- o0o -**

_For Eliade's sake he'd do anything…_

_For Eliade he would…_

**- o0o -**

"_Don't come near us, you monster!"_

**- o0o -**

_He didn't abandon the world; the world abandoned him. _

_Without Eliade, there was no world._

**- o0o -**

_That cocky redheaded brat, wiping some blood away from his face before once again brandishing his weapon, prepared to resume the fight._

_"You actually caught me by surprise, so I'm a bit pissed. I think I'm gonna beat you to a bloody pulp before I'll try talking some sense into you…"_

_His own smile, feral._

_"Sounds like fun."_

**- o0o -**

_"You're compatible with a parasitic Innocence that can neutralize the poison and unknowingly, you've been targeting akuma…"_

**- o0o -**

_"I don't give a damn. I just happen to enjoy the hunt."_

**- o0o -**

_"If you like to hunt akuma then you should join up with us and hunt them to your heart's content…"_

**- o0o -**

_"I only said that I hunt for the thrill of it… So I might as well hunt you!"_

**- o0o -**

_His own weakness, his pride…_

_His lover… his everything…_

**- o0o -**

_"Aleister!"_

**- o0o -**

_"Eli…ade?"_

**- o0o -**

_"You…"_

**- o0o -**

_"I loved you from the moment we met… Why didn't you kill me back then?"_

**- o0o -**

_"Because I was merely using you! I just wanted something out of you! That's why…"_

**- o0o -**

_"I see… I've always wanted to kill you as well!"_

**- o0o -**

_"So it was the same then? For the both of us?"_

**- o0o -**

_"Yes…"_

**- o0o -**

_He wanted proof of his own existence…_

_He just wanted to prove that he was something more than just one of his grandfather's possessions…_

_He was a monster… destroying the things he loved…_

_In a world without her, what reason could he possibly have to go on living?_

**- o0o -**

"_Become an exorcist."_

_A snort, and then he turned away, that sour-looking young man._

**- o0o -**

_The villagers, the crowd, raging._

"_Regardless of what happened, you're still a monster! Be gone! Be gone! Never come back!"_

_Even if he told them what had really taken place, they would not believe him…_

**- o0o -**

_A smiling face, a frail-looking pigtailed girl on a train._

"_This is your first time riding a train, isn't it? Then why won't you have a look around?"_

**- o0o -**

"_Hey… Wanna join in on a game of poker?"_

**- o0o -**

Silver-grey eyes narrowed briefly before closing altogether as he sighed inwardly, rising from his seat. _A-ah… I can't go on watching this…_

**- o0o -**

"Now good sir, let's have another match. What will you wager this time around?"

Aleister Crowley shivered in the cold where he sat, deprived of most of his clothing and other belongings. A slight cough was heard behind him, and on reflex he turned his head, finally noticing the person who had been standing there for quite a while already.

A young man in his teens stood there, dressed in a long dark greyish coat. Crowley caught a glimpse of a pair of silver-grey eyes and a thin red scar, half-hidden by tresses of white hair. "Yo," the boy greeted, directing himself mainly towards the leader, the glasses-wearing messy-haired Southern-European in the group. "Can I join?"

"Or are you afraid to face a mere boy like me?" he then added, smiling somewhat mockingly.

The leader remained silent for a moment. Then, he burst out snickering for a few moments before he once again schooled his features to reflect some amount of seriousness. "Alright-y…"

**- o0o -**

"Call!" Allen placed down his cards on the floor, a vicious grin threatening to break out in his face at the clear disbelief of his fellow players.

"Royal… Straight… Flush?"

"Looks like it's my win again," he flippantly noted, shuffling the cards with practiced ease. "Again?"

**- o0o -**

"_I don't want to get involved…"_

**- o0o -**

He smirked, surveying his hand. _Too late._

His main opponent – the glasses-wearing guy – burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?" Allen offhandedly asked.

"Nothing much," the other snickered. "I was just thinking…"

Allen looked up, honestly curious for once. A few moments later, he was the one laughing.

"Salvation?" he repeated in disbelief and with a great amount of amusement. He paused briefly, to catch his breath before continuing. "For a person like me, there is no such thing as salvation," he said with a smile. "As I am one of those who are in no need of such a thing…"

The guy with the glasses whistled.

"Regardless of whether we drown ourselves in sins or seek to live as saints, we all perish," Allen went on, his voice flat. "There is no such thing as salvation or eternal life; we live, we die, and that's the end of it. What happens after that, if anything happens at all, is of no concern to me. As a matter of fact, I believe that all of us humans in one way or another are very much qualified to end up in Hell anyway."

He said so, and that was his truth, and one he had long thought of as such. People lived, people died. The end.

"Pessimist, much?" glasses guy commented.

"Realist," Allen responded, rearranging his hand.

"Cynic," the other shot back, highly amused by the looks of it.

"Whatever…" Allen responded with a yawn. "I'd say that regardless of what awaits us at the end of our journey, one is far better off making sure to enjoy the ride while it still lasts…"

"You speak with a lot of wisdom for someone so young, Boy," glasses guy commented, and he glimpsed a pair of eyes looking at him from behind those thick round glasses.

Allen smiled sarcastically in response, calling and showing off his hand. "Another Straight Flush," he dryly commented. "Looks like I win again."

"Besides…" he went on, smiling benevolently at his audience. "With my life expectancy, I doubt I'll be getting much older."

No really, to be completely honest, he was quite surprised that he had managed to stay alive this long. Then again, if he kept on acting all recklessly, his lifespan would no doubt suffer. However, now that he thought of it, he never really had plans on growing old in the first place. People lived, people died, and so would he, eventually. The end.

"Crowley?"

Allen looked up at the sound of someone calling out; he recognised that voice. Getting to his feet, he observed that the train was just about to make a stop in some rural mining town in some Eastern-European country. Moldavia, maybe. He turned to face Miranda, as she had also risen from her seat and approached with their meagre load of baggage. "Miranda, we're getting off," he announced.

She blinked. Then, she nodded, apparently trusting his judgement. They headed toward the exit, or at least they moved towards it with such intent.

"Wait…"

Allen turned around, facing Aleister Crowley where he stood, seemingly wavering. He barely resisted rolling his eyes; he seemed to find himself in these kinds of situations a lot lately. A split-second decision lay before him, and he decided that if he was going to play things by ear, he might as well improvise considerably. It might actually make the ride more interesting after all. "Come along if you like, stay if you like," he stated as his feet impacted on the platform. "Choose now, choose quickly."

**- o0o -**

"_Where's Crowley?"_

"_I thought he was with you…?"_

**- o0o -**


	11. The Eleventh Testament

…

**- o0o -**

**The Eleventh Testament**

– **The Third Act **_–_

**The Black Sheep and the Shepherd**

**- o0o -**

_I… am an idiot_, Allen swiftly concluded where he found himself exiting the train station with not only one but two pieces of additional baggage a tow. Maybe his sanity had suffered more from having been trapped in that time loop than he had initially thought?

He sighed inwardly. _Oh well… I might as well make the best of it._

Even so, things were bound to get troublesome; he just knew it.

He scratched his head. Then, he looked up, having come to a decision regarding his next course of action. "Let's go."

**- o0o -**

His first course of action entailed securing himself a fresh supply of food, since all that gambling had made him extremely hungry. Hence, armed with and munching on whatever local specialities he had managed to obtain from a local street vendor, Allen made his way down the main street of this medium-sized mining town he had ended up in with his accompanying pieces of baggage in his endeavour – their endeavour, he supposed – to avoid coming face to face with Miss Cheerful-Short-Skirted-Soldier and her likely-to-be-less-naïve companions.

Having sated his appetite somewhat, Allen now felt ready to settle the issue of where to spend the night. It did not take long until he had managed to locate some sort of reasonably priced inn, and soon enough, he had also managed to persuade some matronly woman into letting a room out to all three of them for half the price. Even with the additional trouble of being forced to relay his – their – tragic life story and being forced to suffer through some attempts at doting on him by said woman, Allen still considered this to be a fairly good deal. Also, in addition to this, he was swiftly made aware of the fact that apparently he did not look like he was fifteen.

Being treated like child was reasonably annoying, but in the end, he supposed that it did have its advantages at times, especially when it resulted in discounts. His monetary resources were not endless after all, for obvious reasons.

Hours later, he found himself sitting in the opened window of their rented attic, staring out at the quite dreary scenery in contemplation, all while his companions busied themselves with whatever they wanted. Eventually however, when the sun had begun to set, Allen turned his head, catching sight of his companions as they sat there in silent anticipation, seemingly waiting for him to speak. They were mildly unnerving, the looks that they sent his way. "One question," he then said, tilting his head slightly to the side. "Are you intending on sticking around?"

Crowley appeared hesitant, seemingly bothered. Miranda on the other hand, having grown used with his conversational style, nodded. Seeing this, Crowley offered a slight nod in response, but even so he still appeared to be wavering.

"If you're intending on sticking around, we might as well learn each other's names," Allen then continued, tilting his head to the other side. "…For the sake of convenience."

"I apologise," Crowley swiftly put forth, bending his head slightly. "I am Count Aleister Crowley the Third."

"I am Miranda Lotto," Miranda continued. "I'm from Germany."

"Germany?" The count looked at her, surprised and interested at the same time. He opened his mouth, seemingly planning to ask something, but then he turned his eyes towards Allen instead, where he still sat in the window, looking out at the rapidly darkening sky.

"I'm from England," Allen responded without turning his head, continuing to observe the skies. "I have had many names… Allen Walker is one of them, but you may call me whatever you like."

**- o0o -**

"So you grew up at the circus?" Aleister Crowley inquired, his eyes wide with something akin to awe. "That's so…"

"It was either that or the streets," Allen responded somewhat disinterestedly as he continued shuffling his deck of cards. "Besides, the drifting lifestyle suited me…"

As a matter of fact, the drifting lifestyle as a solo performer suited him far too well. On second thought, he really should have continued with the solo part because cooperating on stage really wasn't his forte.

"Why did you leave?" Crowley asked, watching with fascination as he laid playing cards in a faced-down pattern on the floor.

_Why indeed? _

Allen barely resisted smirking at this."Simply put, I had a slight falling-out with the Ringmaster, and things kind of escalated from there," he then responded, noticing that Miranda shifted somewhat guiltily beside him, absentmindedly fingering her clock where it still hung like a medallion around her neck. "But I'm kind of happy they did, since I might have ended up staying otherwise."

Kind of happy? He was positively ecstatic to have left that hellhole and to have left his former boss in quite a bind with him – the star – missing. A part of him even wondered whether this had been his secret plan all along upon taking on the mask of Joker, to – like the phantom he supposedly was – pull a disappearing act and seemingly drop off the face of the Earth, leaving the fool who had depended on his continued cooperation there with nothing but a fading mirage and a soon-to-be compromised business. That, if anything, was something to take delight in. After all, it wasn't like other people's misery had not provided him with a great deal of amusement before all this. Besides, that greedy bastard of a Ringmaster certainly deserved it several times over. That was Allen's reasoning, and he had every intention of sticking to it.

**- o0o -**

It was already past midnight when Allen reassembled his cards and rose from his sitting position, surveying the sleeping faces of his newly acquired companions. Maybe it would be best, both for him and them, if he just disappeared then and there, continuing off on his own. After all, he had never really been much into this whole thing of creating and maintaining human relationships, so breaking it off before things started getting too deep was what would be best for not only his own sake but also for theirs.

He walked up to the window again.

His senses were tingling.

The waning moon soon became visible as the clouds gradually drifted over the night sky, and Allen felt a sudden chill run down his spine. Darkness, thick darkness. Familiar, oh so familiar. He almost wanted to reach for it, yet recoil from it at the same time, yet couldn't seem to decide on which.

Wasting no time, he opened the window more fully and exited through it, setting his foot onto the sloping roof. Pushing the window partially shut again behind him, he continued on his way alongside the ledge. Eventually, he reached the end of the roof-ridge and just stood there for a while, filling his lungs with the refreshingly cold night air, closing his eyes briefly to tune into the darkness surrounding him.

A soft breeze ruffled his hair even further, caressing his skin with a cool but surprisingly gentle touch, and he opened his eyes, directing them skywards even as a menacing presence began to appear behind him. "Good Evening."

He turned to face his adversary, bowing somewhat theatrically and partially mockingly before him. "Good Evening… Earl."

The night grew still for a moment, seemingly awaiting the other's response where he stood in silence for a few moments, seemingly assessing the teen standing with his back facing towards him. Then, he chuckled, seemingly good-naturedly and somewhat amusedly. "You seem a lot more well-mannered than last time we met, or am I recalling things incorrectly, Allen Walker?" he noted, grinning as widely as ever.

"Times have changed and people change with them…" Allen responded, shrugging mildly before looking up towards the skies. "Well, some of us do..."

If he remembered things correctly, he had introduced himself as the circus freak picked up as a replacement for Mana's deceased dog. Ironically enough, it now seemed as though he was the one picking things off the street. Indeed, the wretched thing called Fate apparently had a sense of humour. Then again, Allen was not all too sure that he even believed in Fate in the first place.

"Your appearance may seem different, but your presence has not changed much…" the Earl countered. "Neither has your behaviour, if the reports are to be believed."

The wind died down again for a brief moment, and the night suddenly grew very still. Allen turned his head slightly, eyeing his opponent out of the corner of his eye. "You've been keeping tabs on me?"

It wasn't a question.

"I was merely keeping an eye on my investment," the Earl chuckled, shifting slightly in his position. "Then again, you do not seem very surprised."

He wasn't; he would have had to be blind to have missed the signs of it. "Charity rarely comes without strings attached, so I had my suspicions," Allen then responded, continuing to gaze up at the waning moon.

"Is that so?"

It wasn't a question.

There was a pause and Allen waited, aware that the Earl had business with him yet. There was no detectable killing intent in the air and he took it as a good sign. Then again, if the Earl had intended on taking his life in the first place, Allen supposed he would not have survived their first meeting.

The Earl's next question though somehow took him by surprise."Will you join me and my family for dinner, Allen Walker?"

Allen looked up, eyes widening slightly before narrowing, but he showed no other outward response. Then he turned to face him, smiling amiably. "Will I not be intruding on a dinner between members of the same kin?" he asked, although the matter itself could have been of no less importance to him. He was merely stalling for time so that he would be able to adapt to the situation at hand, which was gradually getting more out of hand.

"Oh no… do join us," the Earl responded after a brief pause, chuckling. "We have not seen each other in years, so there is much to talk about, isn't there?"

Allen's eyes narrowed again and the fake smile vanished from his face as quickly as it had appeared. "…Such as?"

The Earl chuckled again."Things which are better discussed over dinner than in a place such as this one…"

Allen silently wondered when exactly the world had gone mad on him. Though on second thought, it was probably mad to begin with. "Some other time… perhaps," he then responded, his voice soft but determined.

There was no fluctuation in the air; the Earl did not appear to have taken his response badly. "Pity," the man continued after another pause, adjusting his top-hat. "I truly only wished to have a small chat with you… and to make offers, of course."

_To make offers? What the Hell…? _

Was he dreaming or had he gone barking mad without noticing?

Allen visibly tensed, his self-control barely managing to suppress the sudden flight reflex which had just about crept upon him, along with a sudden deep-seated twinge of terror. His mind did not fear, but his body appeared to be of another opinion, plotting its imminent escape. He forced himself to calm down, suppressing his reflexes and shoving the fear deep into the dark pit of his consciousness, where it rightfully belonged. He needed to be more sensible; he needed to play his cards right. "If this offer in any way involves what it did last time, I respectfully ask you to take it and shove it," Allen then shot back, watching the man with wary eyes.

The Earl chuckled in response, apparently having found something rather amusing in his not very polite answer. "No, no. It is not so," he then said, his ever-present grin seemingly widening. "Then again, now that I think of it, the offer can wait for another time… perhaps until we meet again under more favourable circumstances…"

_More favourable circumstances_, Allen mentally repeated, eyes narrowing even further. _You mean, at a time when I am fully at your mercy, right?_

"If it's so, then…" he said, turning. "Until then, Earl."

The Earl chuckled. "Until then, Joker."

The breeze blew again, a bit more sharply this time around, and before long the Earl's presence vanished from behind him. He let out a sigh of relief, before once again inhaling the night air, wishing for clarity but receiving none. _Honestly… What am I doing?_

He supposed he would be asking himself that selfsame question a lot in the future.

**- o0o -**


	12. The Twelfth Testament

…

**- o0o -**

**The Twelfth Testament**

– **The Fourth Act – **

**The Thief and the Walker**

**- o0o -**

"Dammit…"

Two years of his life, two hellish years…

And when he had finally had the presence of mind to actually use a moment of inattention on the bastard's part to run away, he somehow ended up in some foreign outback where no one seemed to understand any of the languages he had a decent command over. English, French, Hindi or Arabic; these rural peasants and workers and miners all looked equally confused regardless of which one he tried to use in order to communicate. They stared too, especially at the winged golden golem flying around his head like some kind of retarded canary, but also at his somewhat unusual hair and attire. He could take the stares, but not being able to communicate proved to be extremely frustrating as not even body language seemed to be able to convey his message.

Then again, evidently, saying _"I'm lost and want you to tell me the fastest route to Paris"_ in body language was rather difficult. Had he just had a map then he could certainly have pointed it out and probably have managed to convey what he wanted, but somehow he had a feeling that few of these people – if any – had ever left the area and even fewer had ever even seen a map of Europe, hence he contemplated trying his luck at using the sun and stars to try finding the way home. _I'm going home. There's no way I'm going back to that bastard._

Damn it all.

**- o0o -**

A train station…

He was half-ready to throw himself down on his knees to kiss the ground before him, but it was all dirty and muddy so he didn't. Instead, he stuck a hand into his pockets, fishing out what little money remained from what he had 'borrowed' from his Master who in turn had borrowed it from loan sharks who had in turn sent debt collectors after him since he did not pay them back.

_I hate that guy._

…And apparently, he did not have enough money for a train ticket anyhow.

Oh well, he would just have to 'borrow' some more then.

**- o0o -**

"_Timothy! Don't do that!"_

**- o0o -**

Emilia, the daughter of Inspector Galmar – the man who arrested his bastard of a father – had always taken it upon herself to act as his moral conscience. It had been at least two years since he had last seen her, two years since he had last heard her voice, yet it rang ever so clearly in his mind, admonishing him like usual. He had hated her for being such a busybody, all while he had loved her for showing that she cared about him. He would even be willing to stand hours and hours of boring lectures just to be back there, at the orphanage, where life was simple and the other things didn't matter. His life before Cross; he wanted it back.

Evidently, he could never have the two years he spent in that despicable man's company back, but he would still be able to make up for them by bounds if he just managed to get back there, if he just managed to return to the orphanage. The Old Matron and the others would be so surprised when they spotted him. He could tell them all about his adventures and lie about as much or as little as he wished, making up this grand fairytale of his earlier whereabouts. The other kids would surely be awed and envious; most of them hadn't even left the city before. The grownups probably wouldn't believe him, but it wouldn't matter; he would be back and that would be enough. Now, he only needed to get there.

He eyed the money in his hand again, trying to determine how much more he would need, wishing he had paid more attention to Emilia trying to teach him math, rather than trying to squeeze her breasts in the meantime. Oh well, supposedly it was easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission, so as long as he went to confess later on and said a few _Ave Maria_s or whatever then he would probably be forgiven, in mean time at least, for 'borrowing' some more money without permission.

He looked up, only then really noticing the sudden absence of the golem which had been flapping around his head. Nearly instantly, he spotted the thing feebly struggling in the mouth of a dirty ragged-looking feline beast, which just then took off with its prize. He immediately took off after it, his earlier thoughts pushed aside in favour of retaining focus on catching the cat before it a) ate the thing and b) disappeared and was never seen again. "Timcanpy!" he shouted as he ran, cursing under his breath. "Why do you have to get yourself eaten whenever I take my eyes off you for a few seconds, you worthless golem?!"

Damn, that cat was fast. It cut around the corner and he started after it as it disappeared down another alley. He continued shouting, shifting between curses from the different languages he knew.

"Wait up, you stupid cat! Your stomach will hurt if you eat that thing!" He rounded another corner, finding himself alone in some muddy street with the cat nowhere in sight. He swore again, reverting to French this time around.

Timothy asked himself why he even bothered with that stupid golem anyway, but that thing had been the closest thing to a 'friend' he had during his years with the bastard, so he couldn't really just leave it behind now, could he? "Damn… cat…"

He stopped again, eyes darting back and forth looking for his target all while he tried to regain his breath. "Where did it… go?"

**- o0o -**

Allen stared, moderately surprised, at the ragged-looking cat which had jumped up into his lap where he sat in the open window of their rented room on the top floor, holding something gold-winged and struggling in its mouth. He held out his hand, his palm upwards, to accept the somewhat odd prize from the feline, which obediently surrendered it in exchange for a scratch beneath the chin. Something golden-winged and utterly – disgustingly – familiar fell into his hand.

**- o0o -**

_A flash of golden._

_Hands at his throat, squeezing._

_Cold steel resting against his temple._

_Red hair._

_Tobacco smoke._

_Red wine._

_A white half-mask._

_Exorcist General._

**- o0o -**

"_Become an exorcist."_

**- o0o -**

_Cross Marian._

**- o0o -**

He could feel his urge to hurt someone or break something increase by the second. The golem, seemingly aware of his gradually increasing antipathy, squirmed in his grip.

Meanwhile, he silently wondered when and why cats had started to become so friendly with him, absentmindedly continuing to scratch beneath the chin of the one which had brought him this most recent but not very welcome gift. Still, he supposed it was better than getting a rat dumped on his lap as some kind of friendly gift or odd kind of offering for reasons unknown.

A sudden sound from down below alerted him, and he only just then spotted the ragged-looking bandana-wearing brat who stood there down on the street, staring up at him with an expression which proved surprisingly difficult to interpret. Impatience, perhaps due to a mild case of sleep-deprivation, made the words slide off his tongue before his common sense had enough time to stop them. "What the Hell are you looking at?"

**- o0o -**

Having been put into a somewhat lousier mood than usual due to having been reminded of events and people he would much rather bury deep beneath layers of forgetfulness, Allen surveyed the newest addition of nuisances in his life with a mild frown adorning his features.

The boy in question – one Timothy Hearst – squirmed lightly, alternating between looking uncomfortable and sending some equally unfriendly looks back his way. Thankfully, Crowley apparently knew the brat, having encountered him previously when said brat had been travelling in the company of one Cross Marian, the latter whom had paid a visit to the Count's castle to drop off some apparently carnivorous plant.

Cross Marian's runaway apprentice, if the kid's own words could be deemed as reliable. Then again, if the kid was speaking the truth, then Allen supposed he would have to applaud him for one thing, because running away from Cross Marian was a show of good judgement. The man was bad news to begin with; and even that was a grave understatement. Hence, even though Timothy Hearst was evidently a brat and even though Allen as a matter of principle held very little love for children in general, Allen did find it in himself to sympathise with him, taking their respective circumstances into account and all.

Timothy, having been caught in the act of possessing people through the use of his Innocence, had been a caught rat.

Allen himself on the other hand had encountered Cross on at least two different occasions; once during the time with Mana and once after Mana's death. The former had consisted of Cross – seemingly without any provocation whatsoever – seizing him by the throat and slamming him up against a wall with a gun to his temple, bloody interrogating him about one thing or the other, and in doing so giving birth to the greatest grudge Allen had held towards anyone since Cosimo. The latter had consisted of Cross basically doing the same thing all over again, only demanding that he'd become an exorcist or something instead, and Allen had basically done the same thing as he had done previously. In other words, he bit the man, sending a couple of well-aimed kicks into the man's groin and shins, and elbows into his chest area, fighting nail and tooth to regain his freedom and to do as much damage as possible to his opponent in accomplishing just that. He had emerged from the fight with bruises all over and a sprained wrist, but he had emerged victorious in the sense that he had managed to make his getaway and hence had not ended up as the misfortunate apprentice of that womanising bastard of a drunk.

When he, in a short and disinterested manner, relayed this piece of information to the actual apprentice, the latter's unfriendly glares gradually turned into something akin to awe. He realised far too late that his latest course of action was about cause yet another possible liability to start following him around. He really needed to start keeping his mouth shut in situations like these.

Allen closed his eyes with a sigh.

**- o0o -**

_He huffed indignantly, using his sleeve to wipe the spit off his face._

_"Did Cosimo beat you up?"_

"_Shut up." _

_Go away._

**- o0o -**

_"Don't you have any friends?"_

_He wanted to hit him, hit him hard and repeatedly, trying to beat some sense into a clearly senseless man._

_"When I grow up… I'm getting out of here as soon as I'm strong enough, so I don't need friends."_

_**- o0o -**_

_I don't need friends_, he mentally repeated, surveying the merrily chatting trio to his left where they all stood, waiting for a train which would take them even further eastward. _I am a solitary existence, a one-man team…_

They looked almost like a family where they stood, a happy little collection of society's misfits, discussing some pointless anecdotes, seemingly without a care in the world. _Swearing no allegiances and taking orders from no one…_

What the Hell was he supposed to do with these people, these people who at times looked at him as though he was the second-coming of the Messiah, or some kind of role model one should mimic?

_I should have slipped away into the night when I had the opportunity_, he swiftly concluded as the incoming train came into view. _This is bound to get seriously troublesome…_

They had decided to tag along with him by their own free will; he really should not feel responsible for them if they ended up being headed for their own destruction. Besides, stupidity on their part could hardly be said to be his fault in any way now, could it?

Still, as he had somehow ended up as the supposed shepherd of all these black sheep, he ought to be responsible for them in at least some way. In one way or another, they were pack, and as the assigned leader of this pack he was expected to adhere to some kind of leadership. Still, considering the fact that he absolutely abhorred the thought of abiding to such expectations, he'd rather not adhere to anything at all.

Still, he would wander wherever and whenever and however he wanted, and if they were able to keep up with him then they were welcome to follow. After all, lone wolves made really lousy shepherds, so why ever would he keep up some sort of pretence in the first place?

Whatever the circumstances, he would remain in the world as himself until the very end. Regardless of whether the end which awaited him was a sweet or a bitter one, he would still keep on walking, still keeping on heading towards it. The curtain would fall eventually, but until then, he would keep walking forward, regardless of what was left behind and regardless of what awaited him near or far ahead. He was a Walker after all, not a Stopper.

_**- o0o -**_


	13. The Thirteenth Testament

…

**- o0o -**

**The Thirteenth Testament **

– **The Fifth Act –**

**The Tower**

**- o0o -**

_Silver-grey eyes glanced indifferently at the spectacle taking place on the main street._

_He stood in the shadows of a narrow alley, waiting for the parade to go past him._

_He turned his head, turning his gaze towards the old hunchbacked crone who had approached in silence._

_Eyes, dull and unseeing, haunted his dreams._

_A wrinkled face and a toothless smile flashed by in the darkness._

_Dry lips moved as words seeped into his ears, echoing in his consciousness._

**- o0o -**

_Silver-grey eyes looked up as the parade had come to pass, and the old woman had disappeared with it._

_He stood in the shadows of a narrow alley, closing his eyes._

_Eyes, orb-like and glowing, haunted his dreams._

**- o0o -**

Blearily, he gazed upon his surroundings, not entirely sure about when and where he had drifted off, not that it actually mattered much or anything. Regardless, having returned into a state of reasonable awareness, he straightened himself up somewhat, retracting himself from the position where he had apparently ended up using Miranda's shoulder as some sort of makeshift pillow. Evidently, he was not the only person who had found alternative uses for the woman, or at least that was to be assumed when Allen noticed that the brat – Timothy – had apparently borrowed her lap for the same purpose. Still, Miranda appeared far more delighted to finally be of use to someone than bothered by her apparent demotion to a human pillow. _As long as she's happy…_

He didn't bother questioning why her happiness mattered to him. He had already gone through it once and he was not going to go through it again, since thinking to deeply about matters such as that one was a serious waste of time and in addition, a serious waste of brain power which could have been used far better elsewhere. Besides, gloomy and miserable people following him around all the time would no doubt come to grate on his nerves in the long-term perspective. Hence, keeping his companions in a reasonably tolerable emotional state was something to aim for, as long as it did not take too much effort on his part to accomplish.

"Where's Crowley?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.

"He's off to find the dining car," Miranda responded, absentmindedly stroking the brat's hair, only to have the brat smile in his sleep, looking extremely and undeservingly content. "Though he might have gotten lost…"

Great, just great. And, considering Crowley's track record in getting lost, Miranda's observation was probably completely accurate. Lovely, just absolutely marvellous.

Allen sighed, intent on rising to his feet and on locating the missing member of his group, but a hand on his arm stopped him and he looked questioningly at Miranda in response. "I'll go," she said quietly with a bleak smile adorning her face, lifting the sleeping brat from her lap and onto the seat so that she was able to rise. "I'll return shortly."

She exited the train compartment. Allen snuck a disinterested glance at Timothy where he lay sprawled on the seat next to him. "She's gone now, so you can stop pretending," he then said, folding his arms and leaning back against the backrest, staring out of the window at the scenery passing by.

"How could you tell?" Timothy asked after a while, rolling onto his back and staring at him from an upside-down perspective.

"How could I not tell?" Allen responded, continuing to look out the window. "Your breathing is not deep orregular enough to match the normal sleeping pattern… and besides, there were other things as well…"

"You can tell whether a person is awake or not by their breathing?" Timothy asked, frowning. "That's not normal."

"I have good ears," Allen responded, his voice frank.

Good ears, good eyes and good instincts; he would not have survived otherwise.

He looked up quite suddenly, directing his eyes towards one of the doors to the compartment. Then he reached into his bag, pulling out a scarf and tying it around his head, making sure it covered all of his hair. Finally, he pulled out a small jar containing a bleak powder, put some of it into his hand and spat into it. Then he rubbed it between his fingers for a bit before applying it to his face, using it to cover up the scar.

"What are you doing?" Timothy asked, grimacing slightly. "Are you applying makeup?"

"Shut up," Allen responded, deadpan, applying the finishing touches.

The brat made another grimace at him, supposedly mocking him, but he paid him no heed, pulling out his deck of cards instead to give his hands something to do all while he listened closely, and surely enough, just a few minutes later, a couple of white-clad men entered the compartment, having a slight look around before they moved on to the next. Timothy tensed up at the sight of them, apparently recognising them for what they were, and he unconsciously drew closer to Allen where he sat, all while keeping a wary eye on the Finders as they moved along. After having made certain they were out of hearing range, Timothy spoke up, his voice slightly awed and devoid of any kind of mockery. "You really do have good ears," he said.

"Maybe so," Allen responded, continuing to shuffle his cards. "But sometimes, sharp instincts are of more use than a keen sense of hearing…"

However, neither instincts nor senses could ever be fully trusted; they could be deceived just like all other things, and although a keen sense of intuition would normally do the trick when it came to making decisions, it was still impossible to foresee all the different consequences of different courses of action, both those of his own and those of others'.

"You and your stupid cards…" Timothy said, looking on as he went on shuffling. "Don't you ever get tired of messing around with them?"

A stupid question. Did it deserve an answer?

"Not really," Allen responded. "My hands have a tendency to get restless if they remain idle for too long…"

Timothy snorted, reaching into his own pocket to pull something out, holding the item out for Allen to take. "An old crone gave me these," he said. "Apparently, they are supposed to be able to tell the future or something, but I think they seem pretty useless, so you can have them…"

_Interesting logic_, Allen mused. Still, he put his own deck of cards away in favour of accepting the other pack, looking at them with a kind of idle interest. Tarot cards. It had been a while since he had last seen a deck of those. He shuffled them all the same for a while before suddenly ceasing the action and pulling a card, placing it face down on the seat between them before swiftly adding an unknown number of other cards, also placing them in a face down position, soon completing a pattern reminiscent to that of a star. Then, he put the remaining cards aside in favour of turning the cards face up one by one, all while Timothy looked on. _The Moon, the Sun,_ he mentally noted, although he could not recall any of their supposed meaning. _The Star, Death, the Tower, Judgement…_

He went on counting in silence, only vaguely aware of the words as they started seeping into his consciousness. The old woman, the one from his dream, spoke within him. Dry lips moved, producing sounds. He listened.

**- o0o -**

"_The Moon, caught between the Scorching Sun and the Growing Darkness, is waning…"_

**- o0o -**

"_The Stars are alit in the Skies, One after Another, and when all Thirteen of them have appeared, the Moon will succumb and fade away into the Night…"_

**- o0o -**

"_Once the Moon has Faded, the Tower shall Crumble and the Sun shall Go out, leaving the World in a Darkness which will last for Three Days and Three Nights, signalling that the End draws near…"_

**- o0o -**

"What are you doing?"

Allen looked up, only then really noticing Timothy's close proximity as he had leaned forward, eyeing the cards with clear interest. He looked down at the cards, tilting his head slightly to the side. "Who knows?"

The images were familiar, but the supposed meaning of them was lost to him. The future? What did cards know about the future? The power lay in the interpretation, within the human intuition, not within the images themselves. Images by themselves had no meaning. _The Tower…_

**- o0o -**

"_The Tower of Babel… do you know of such a story, Red?"_

_Numbly, he shook his head. The name sounded very familiar though._

**- o0o -**

"Have you ever heard the story about the Tower of Babel?"

Timothy looked up, both surprised at being addressed directly and by the question itself. "The Tower of Babel?" he repeated, tilting his head a bit. "You mean that story in the Book of Genesis? Yeah, I've heard it. It's about some guys who try to build a tower to reach the Heavens or something… What about it?"

Allen continued looking at the card in his hand, studying it, saying nothing. Images faded in and out of his mind, while words continued to echo within. He closed his eyes, listening.

**- o0o -**

"_It's a good story," the voice said. "It proves a point."_

_Red poked a dead rat on the ground with a stick, saying nothing. He wasn't listening to the words, yet they continued to seep into his ears. A card was thrust into his face and he looked up at the person who was speaking, his face blank._

"_The existence of God is a jealous and selfish one," the person said, retracting the card and putting it back into the pile, shuffling it. "He might give the impression of being merciful, yet when humans – who were supposedly created in his image – attempted to become his equals, he supposedly punished them by making them unable to understand each other…"_

_People wouldn't have understood each other anyway, Red thought. There was no God._

"_I can't say that I honestly believe in this 'Word of God', but the story does prove a good point," the person said, pulling another card and showing it to him. "God needs no equals."_

_Red glanced at the card without much interest. There was a man hanging upside-down on it. A hanged man._

"_There is no God."_

_A smile flashed by, barely visible in the shadows cast beneath the other's wide-brimmed hat._

_Cards continued to be shuffled._

"_That's an interesting standpoint," the young man in the hat said, pulling another card. "What about miracles then?"_

"_There are no miracles," Red responded, deadpan. _

_Another card was presented before him, displaying a ragged-looking young man with a staff._

"_Then off you go, Young Fool," the man in the hat said. "Set out on a journey and go see the world instead of rotting away in this place…"_

"_I am nobody's fool," Red hissed._

"_We're all fools," the young man responded. "And fools we shall remain…"_

**- o0o -**

_Nimble fingertips danced over keys of ivory and ebony, as the young man leaned over the piano, watching Red's hands as they moved like they had never done anything else than played and played and played._

"_I could teach you to read notes if you like," the young man said, despite already knowing the answer to his question._

"_Go away," Red said. "Go bother someone else."_

_The disheartened young musician smiled sadly._

"_I will stop bothering you soon, Red," he said. "I will not last long."_

_Red paid him little heed, continuing to play the instrument before him, gradually detaching himself from all that lay beyond it._

"_You've got much better at playing," the young man said, studying his hand movements with keen interest. "I don't think Allen will ever be able to catch up-…"_

"_Shut up!"_

_Hands slammed down onto the keys, putting an abrupt end to the music._

_Narrowed eyes glared at him, a colour of steely grey._

_The young musician just smiled at him._

"_I'm sorry about that, Red."_

**- o0o -**

_Ivory-coloured keys stained in crimson._

_Red, it was such a pretty colour._

"_Sorry about that," the musician croaked out before once again pressing the tissue to his mouth while violent coughs shook his weakening body._

_Red reached out to touch the crimson drops that lay on the keys, but the musician's hand shot out, grasping his wrist._

"_Don't touch it," the musician wheezed out before another coughing fit came over him. "You'll get sick."_

_Red stared up at the man, studying his face, noting it grew hollower for each passing day. Eyes, slightly glossy with fever, gazed down upon him._

_Why did he care about such a thing anyway?_

**- o0o -**

"_Those who don't work aren't fed."_

_The Ringmaster, money on his mind as usual._

"_This is a company, not a hospice. You are sick and you are a liability. I cannot have you living on charity here any longer. Go. Leave at once."_

**- o0o -**

"_So what happens now?" Red asked the man as he picked up his meagre possessions, his cane and a small sack, leaving most prized possession – the piano – behind._

_The young man, pale as the snow which had begun to fall from above, smiled almost serenely._

"_Now… I walk forward."_

_And so he did, heading towards the woods where Cosimo had met his fate._

_Red followed._

**- o0o -**

_Snow had already started falling thick when Red found him again, leaning his back against a thick oak tree, overlooking the frozen waters. _

_It was such a tranquil scenery, and his lips were so blue that Red actually thought he was dead for a second, before a white cloud of breath disproved his earlier assessment. _

_Red walked up to him and kicked him._

_Eyes fluttered open, looking blearily at him._

_The musician smiled._

"_Oh, it's you."_

"_Were you expecting someone else?" Red snarled at him._

_A cold hand cupped his cheek and he startled, nearly pulling away on instinct._

_Tired eyes, half-lidded and hazy, looked at him._

"_You can't come along," the musician whispered, his hand falling back down as his strength continued to fade. "It's still too early for you…"_

_Red slapped him, hard and repeatedly, receiving little more than some sluggish blinking in return._

"_It's too early for you as well, idiot," he hissed, putting his own hands onto the musician's cheeks, warming them. "If you're going to die, you can do so in spring; the ground's frozen, so I can't dig a grave for you."_

_Suddenly, arms encircled him, enclosing and trapping him inside a hug. He nearly gagged, trapped with his face against the other's chest, forced to listen to a heart which was going slower and slower and slower, getting ready to cease beating forever, all while cold blue lips whispered words of nonsense into his hair._

"_I lived my life as a coward, and I shall die as I lived, as a coward and a fool… I lived for the rules rather than the exceptions, the habits rather than the adventures and the note sheets rather than the creativity… I feared life, yet I feared to take it all the same, fearing what might come next… but I changed; we all change…"_

_A cold hand caressed his head. His struggles to break free ceased, and he collapsed limply into the arms of a dying man._

"_Why are you doing this?" he asked, closing his eyes, wishing he wouldn't have to listen to the other's wheezing respiration and gradually slowing heartbeat._

"_You're shivering," the musician whispered, continuing to run his cold fingers through his hair._

"_Of course I am," Red murmured, burrowing his face in the crook of the musician's neck. "It's cold."_

"_You'll make it through," the musician whispered reassuringly. "Both of you will…"_

**- o0o -**

_Darkness._

_A graveyard._

_He was somewhere else._

**- o0o -**

_A masked young man, dressed in a clown suit, crouched down next to him._

"_Are you going to sit here forever?"_

_Red's eyes fluttered open. Then he looked up, defiant._

"_Why do you care? Leave me alone."_

"_What happened to walking forward?" the clown asked._

"_It ain't like I have anywhere to go anyhow…"_

_Snow whirled around them, falling much thicker than before. _

_Yet, it seemed as though it was getting colder._

_The clown got up, and suddenly, a masked joker stood in his place._

"_Is that so?"_

"_I'm not going back there," Red said, pulling his limbs closer to himself. He shivered slightly, blowing hot air on his hands in an attempt to keep them warm. "I'm never going back to that place."_

_The joker tilted his head to the side._

"_If you say so…"_

_Red stared at him, unsmiling._

"_I'd rather die."_

_Laughter._

"_You'll die if you stay out here too, you know? Would you rather freeze to death than go back there?" the joker mocked him._

"_I would," the boy affirmed, his voice solemn._

_The joker paused, staring at him solemnly._

"_Then what happened to walking forward?"_

_The boy remained silent for a while, rubbing some more warmth into his hands._

"_I'm tired of walking," he said, tilting his head back and turning his head skywards, looking at the snowflakes whirling through the air above. "So I'll stay."_

"_You will live," the joker said, shaking his head. "I know, because you're stubborn like that."_

_A hand was held out towards him, presented by the joker._

"_Let's move forward," the joker said. "Together."_

_The child eyed the hand with a mixture of confusion and distaste. Then he calmly put his hand out and swatted it away, earning a raised eyebrow in response._

"_I'm staying here," the boy calmly repeated, his voice and his eyes serious. "You can go on if you like, but I'm staying here."_

_The joker backed a step, tilting his head to the side. "You're going to stay here with Mana?"_

_Red shook his head._

"_Mana is not here anymore… but… he still lives on… within you and within me."_

_The joker tilted his head to the other side._

"_And you're intending to live on as well, within my heart, as a part of me?"_

_Red closed his eyes._

"_Yes."_

_The joker smirked._

"_Then so be it."_

**- o0o -**

His eyes fluttered open, and he found himself back in reality, meeting the concerned faces of his companions.

"Allen…" Miranda began, her voice shaking a bit. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he responded, sitting up and cradling his aching head. "It's just a migraine."

His companions were not in the least convinced. A bunch of items were dumped into his lap and he looked up, coming face to face with a surprisingly stern-looking Crowley. "Eat," the former count said. "Regularly missing out on meals and sleep can do more damage to a man than physical wounds ever could. Regain your strength, or else I might start carrying you."

Allen snorted in clear disbelief, grabbing a hold of a baguette of some sort, biting off this huge piece of it for good measure and chewing it demonstratively, eyeing the count's back as he left the compartment. _As though I'd ever let that happen…_

With Crowley gone out of sight, Allen's eyes wandered over to Timothy where he sat on the opposite seat. The boy shifted somewhat guiltily under his sudden scrutiny. "What happened to the cards?" Allen asked, still chewing.

A noticeable blush spread over the boy's cheeks, presumably due to embarrassment. "I-I-I threw them out, since they were good for nothing anyway," he finally stammered out, turning away as he grew even redder.

A smirk threatened to break out on Allen's face, so he swallowed quickly so that he could allow it to break through. "So… according to your logic," he calmly said, tilting his head to the side. "When I become a good-for-nothing, you'll chuck me out of a window on a moving train as well, yes?"

Timothy Hearst just sputtered in denial.

**- o0o -**

Allen silently wondered when exactly his tagalong liabilities and additional pieces of baggage had transformed into the unnecessarily concerned and from time to time quite fussy members of his flock. _It's only temporary_, he assured himself. _They'll all be gone soon anyway…_

Still, considering their level of stubbornness, both individually and as a group, Allen had this nagging kind of feeling they'd stick around for quite some time.

**- o0o -**

"_Let's move forward, together."_

**- o0o -**

_Yes_, he finally agreed, rising to his feet. _Let's._

**- o0o -**


	14. The Fourteenth Testament

…

**- o0o -**

**The Fourteenth Testament**

– **The Sixth Act –**

**The Joker and the Apprentice**

**- o0o -**

_There was a man, Chinese by origin, sitting by a desk which was nearly entirely concealed by stashes of paper. His expression was grim, mirroring the ones which could be found in the faces of the room's other occupants._

"_This is a very grave situation," he said. "Not one but three potential exorcist recruits have just dropped off the face of the Earth within a week of each other… during which time one of Generals was attacked and a message was delivered saying that the others would suffer a similar fate…"_

_He paused, his eyes wandering around the room for a moment before he began speaking anew, putting emphasis on what he was about to say._

"_But the real question is – other than the current location of the Innocence Accommodators – whether or not the Earl is behind all of this."_

_He paused again, making a gesture. The assistant next to him bowed his head slightly, clearing his throat. Then, he began reading aloud from the file which he held in his hands._

"_Unknown Subject and possible Accommodator Number One: 'Joker'," he said. "Allen Walker, alias Joker, alias The White Demon…"_

_The effect of the words was nearly instantaneous._

"_The White Demon?"_

"_Isn't that the-…?"_

"_No way…"_

_The assistant coughed slightly, and the whispers soon died down as attention was brought back to him. _

"_In the time which has passed since the Accommodator Number Two – Miranda Lotto – disappeared, this is what we have managed to find on possible Accommodator Number One…"_

_He paused._

"_Fifteen-ish, white-haired, grey-eyed. A part of the same circus troupe we had under investigation some time ago for their suspected involvement in the numerous disappearances in areas they toured," he said, pausing slightly again as a sense of realisation had begun to dawn on some of his listeners, something which showed in their somewhat gobsmacked expressions. "At the time, we suspected that there was an akuma in the troupe, and we did send people over to investigate but came up with nothing… mostly because we weren't looking for the right things; we were looking for a rampaging akuma, not for an Innocence Accommodator hiding out in a circus troupe… performing in the evenings and hunting down akuma at night."_

_The first man, Komui Lee, spoke up again._

"_However," he said. "As if a deviant Accommodator is not bad enough, the Earl seems to be involved as well…"_

**- o0o -**

Allen looked up towards the blue sky, shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight as they continued to track the golden golem soaring up there in the skies. Something was up; he could feel it in his bones.

**- o0o -**

_Komui Lee stood up, addressing the exorcists who were present in the room._

"_I will now give you your newest mission, and I must inform you that it is one of great importance…" he said, his voice solemn. "You have already been informed of the situation with the Generals, and you have already been assigned to teams which are to track down and guard each general… However, recent complications have arisen…"_

_He paused briefly; collecting himself for what came next._

"_In this most recent mission, Cross team was sent to investigate a Cross sighting in Romania, where they discovered a new Accommodator of Innocence, Count Aleister Crowley the Third…"_

**- o0o -**

"_Crowley later disappeared from the train, and witnesses we managed to track down claimed they saw him get off in a mining town in Moldavia, accompanying two others…"_

**- o0o -**

"_Our later investigation of the matter revealed that he apparently stayed with them at an inn for a day or so before continuing by train, only this time… there were four of them."_

**- o0o -**

_He paused again, waiting for the information to sink in a bit before he continued._

"_Our analysis of testimonies given by several witnesses has led us to conclude that Crowley encountered the two accommodators who slipped away in the aftermath of what took place in Germany…"_

**- o0o -**

"_You have already been made aware of Allen Walker, who turned out to be behind the performer known as Joker. He has spent years dodging us, indicating that he is very much aware of his status as an accommodator."_

**- o0o -**

"_The second accommodator is a woman named Miranda Lotto. Her Innocence was the one which lay behind the rewinding phenomenon some of you encountered firsthand. She is now travelling with Walker and, from the looks of it, Aleister Crowley…"_

"_What about the fourth?" someone asked._

_He shook his head._

"_Unfortunately, none of the reports have been very forthcoming on that point, other than on the point that there was a fourth person accompanying them at the time…"_

**- o0o -**

"_However, one witness did claim something which is very interesting, quite alarming and a bit promising as well…"_

**- o0o -**

_Silence._

_A growing sense of realisation._

**- o0o -**

"_Cross Marian's golem?!"_

**- o0o -**

Lately, Allen had encountered a rather troublesome presence in his life. It was a rather troublesome and way too persistent creature which repeatedly sought him out to ask the most annoying things of him, involving questions about everything between heaven and earth and requests which Allen did not feel the least obliged to fulfil.

This time around, what awaited him was one of the latter, presented in a rather straightforward manner and issued more like an order than an actual request. "Teach me how to juggle."

His answer was swift and definite, delivered without any pause or seeming hesitation as he continued observing scattered clouds drifting across the skies. "No."

Timothy Hearst retained his stubborn glare, refusing to be brushed off and ignored.

They were at a train station, waiting for the next train to arrive and for Miranda and Crowley to return with provisions. Allen still wondered why he had ended up as the one babysitting the brat, or perhaps it was the other way around, maybe the brat was the one supervising him?

Miranda had developed an unfortunate tendency to fuss over him at times, practically freaking out when he did not eat and sleep like a normal person. Then again, seeing that he was by no means a normal person and by no means considered himself as such, he had deemed her worry as annoying rather than justified. Besides, as he had told her quite frankly, he honestly did not expect to live past twenty anyway, so her concerns for his continued survival were quite unnecessary as he was probably fated to die pretty young regardless of what kind of recklessness he indulged in. Of course, this argument – which was perfectly sensible in Allen's opinion – obviously ended up having quite the opposite effect on the worrywart. Instead of realistically reassuring them of that he was alright and that he knew what he was doing, it had somehow convinced them that he was very sick – almost dying – and as such needed at least one of them to look after him so that he did not go off doing something reckless to shorten his lifespan even more. Go figure.

Regardless of which, Allen by no means appreciated their concern. If anything, this seemed like an opportune moment to ditch them somewhere and continue off on his own, where no petty concerns sent people into a frenzy just because he sneezed or did something equally trivial.

Having 'comrades' had proved to be just about as troublesome as he had expected it to be, and if anything, it would be their actions that would eventually end up killing him rather than actions of his own; he had such a feeling. For reasons he didn't really understand, they apparently thought he needed them, even though it was actually the complete opposite; he didn't need them, but they apparently needed him, and the reason for this was beyond him.

Again, he inwardly questioned just what the Hell he was supposed to do with these people, who in one moment looked at him like he was the second-coming of the Messiah and in the next acted like he was some sort of easily breakable glass figurine which needed to be looked after. It was all quite laughable actually.

Allen looked back up, his eyes refocusing on the increasingly impatient brat who stood before him.

"You said you were at a circus earlier, right?" Timothy said, crossing his arms. "So, teach me how to juggle."

Allen repeated his earlier response in the exact same manner. "No."

"Who taught you how to juggle?" Timothy – the brat – persisted.

Inwardly rolling his eyes at this, Allen decided to humour him just for a bit, restoring the hopes that he might be left in peace afterwards. "…A mad clown."

"Where is he now?" Timothy immediately asked, looking intrigued.

"He was six feet under the last time I saw him," Allen shot back, deadpan, and at the others look of utter incomprehension he decided to elaborate. "Dead, buried and forgotten, or at least he was until you had the decency to remind me."

His answer had the desired effect of silencing his verbal opponent, whose eyes grew slightly wide and whose cheeks soon reddened slightly. The brat seemed to recover quite quickly though, as he swiftly went back to asking questions. "What was his name?" he asked, and Allen could feel his patience running out. Still, the nature of this inquiry was a surprising one, so he might as well ask about it since his earlier strategy of noncooperation had seemingly failed big time.

"…Why do you need to know?"

The brat went silent, biting his lip. Seeing this, Allen tilted his head slightly to the side, directing his eyes elsewhere. His lips moved, seemingly of their own accord. "Mana. Mana Walker."

Timothy looked up again, apparently surprised that he had received an answer. "Walker?"

Allen tilted his head to the other side, eyeing a church tower in the distance with idle interest. "My foster father, I suppose," he then said, his voice flat and his expression pretty much the same. "Or at least the closest thing to a parent I ever had…"

The closest thing to a parent he had ever had, and had never really needed.

"Your father?" Timothy shifted his weight from one leg to the other, seemingly lost in thought for a moment. Then, he looked up, fixating on a crumpled up piece of paper on the platform nearby before going to it and kicking it. Allen watched in silence, his eyes slightly alit with interest, sensing the anger which was boiling beneath. "My father was a bastard and a thief," Timothy then said with his back turned to him. "He's in prison now, but I still hate him."

Allen's outward expression did not change, but inwardly he kicked up an eyebrow. As he watched the other's back, another onslaught of words slid off his lips, delivered in a cool and detached manner. "I never knew my parents," Allen said. "But, I've come to consider them bastards…"

Timothy turned, his eyes alit with something Allen could not place. "Why?"

Why indeed? He had barely wasted a thought on them for years. "They put me into this world, only to leave me here to fend for myself…" he said, shrugging mildly. "I was abandoned, I suppose. It was either the streets or the circus, and I chose the latter; I wanted to live, so I chose the option which held the highest chances of survival…"

"How old were you?"

There was a slight tremble present in the other's voice. Allen paid it no heed, continuing. "Six or seven or something, maybe," he said, his voice flat. "You don't really count the years when you're busy thinking about how to stay alive, how to thrive. Hell, I doubt I could even count to ten properly, and I know with certainty that I couldn't read; Mana taught me that and it was a pain, but it was worth it."

"How so?" Timothy asked, genuinely surprised.

Allen surveyed him for a moment before once again directing his eyes elsewhere, staring thoughtfully into the distance. "I never went to school, but I chose not to remain ignorant," he eventually snorted, closing his eyes as he tilted his head back to rest against the wall behind him. "Because ignorance has the power to enslave…"

Still, in some cases it was undeniable that ignorance was bliss in itself. Had he only continued minding his own business and kept to his strategy of avoidance and remained uninvolved, he would not have ended up where he was at the moment. Had he not given into his own curiosity, and had he not been so lenient and accepting of the circumstances, he would no doubt have been enjoying blessed solitude and silence instead of being forced to endure this kind of thing. Then again, he supposed, rising to his feet at the arrival of his previously wayward companions, this kind of thing had proved to be surprisingly tolerable. Tolerable, but quite far from anything he would have labelled as enjoyable. Tolerable, but only just that.

**- o0o -**

_Black voids and lakeside cemeteries. Leafless trees reaching towards a white crescent in the sky as it shone and cast its distorted reflection onto the water's surface, a black crescent and a red sea filled with visions of a ruined world._

_He knew the landscape; he had been there many times already._

_There was someone there, a presence, lurking beneath, waiting for him._

_It beckoned him closer, but he remained where he was, staring down into the distorted world beneath._

_The shadow, orb-eyed and grinning, continued to whisper, but he pressed his hands to his ears, blocking out the words, preventing them from ever reaching him._

_He closed his eyes._

**- o0o -**

"Teach me how to juggle."

Silver-grey eyes looked up, meeting the determined brown eyes of Timothy Hearst. _Persistent brat._

He sighed, recalling his extreme dislike of pointless repetition and lack of progress. His eyes wandered off to the three small balls the brat held in his hands, waiting eagerly and stubbornly for a positive response. _Troublesome…_

He held out his hand, accepting the juggling balls without enthusiasm, reasoning that the sooner the brat managed to grasp the basics, the sooner he would be off somewhere to practice, preferably in a place where Allen would not need to see or hear him.

And so, Allen Walker taught him how to juggle.

**- o0o -**


	15. The Fifteenth Testament

…

**- o0o -**

**The Fifteenth Testament**

– **The Sixth Act, Part II –**

**The Calls from the Deep**

**- o0o -**

_He sat on top of a memorial of some sort, looking out at the red sea below and at the ruined world it held within._

_The crescent moon shone brightly above him, reflected as a black crescent in the water._

_The shadow kept on moving around beneath the surface, seemingly restless, but he still kept on watching it from afar, keeping his distance._

_It was whispering something again._

_He raised his hands to his ears, ready to cover them, to prevent the words from reaching him, but then he lowered them again._

_He jumped down from the memorial, his feet impacting soundlessly on the hard ground beneath. Equally soundless were his feet as he made his way closer to the lake, closer to the shadow. He crouched down close to the edge, staring down at his shadowy reflection, opening his mouth to speak._

"_Who are you?"_

**- o0o -**

Silver-grey eyes reopened, taking in the scene before him. They were at yet another train station, waiting for yet another train heading eastward. His companions were once again killing time by engaging in all kinds of more or less pointless games and activities, most of them originating from the brat. Currently, the activity seemed to consist of Timothy practicing his juggling with an audience. It was a sight Allen had seen countless times already, and as such, he turned his eyes elsewhere, directing his gaze towards the empty train tracks as they ran all the way to the horizon and beyond.

"Miranda, Miranda! Look at this!"

"Very good, Tim. You've got so much better at it."

"He he, I know. I must be some kind of genius, right?"

Some kind of genius? Allen barely resisted the urge to snort, although the idea that the kid would regard himself in such a manner was highly amusing and not at all unexpected.

"Maybe it's because you have had a good teacher?" he then heard Crowley ask.

Allen's eyes still remained directed towards the horizon, although he was very much aware of the silence that followed, just as he was very much aware of the look of embarrassment which soon crossed the brat's face as the brat scratched his head, momentarily forgetting all about juggling. Neither did he miss the discreet glance which was soon sent his way, although he deliberately chose to ignore it. "…Yeah, maybe."

He smiled inwardly. _No._

The train still had yet to appear, and it was not long before his companions were engaged in yet another activity to keep themselves occupied and reasonably entertained. Allen silently contemplated whether or not he should suggest that they would go play Hide and Seek, so that he himself would be able to sneak away and hide somewhere before they realised he had left them, but he quickly dismissed the thought from his mind. It was all rather pointless, to be completely honest.

**- o0o -**

Something was off; the realisation gradually manifested itself in his mind, occupying his thoughts more and more for each passing day. _It's too quiet._

Days had gone by without his senses receiving even the slightest tingle, which was abnormal seeing that they had passed through numerous cities and villages along the way. Still, it was as though there was something moving about in his vicinity, just out of the range of where things could be picked up by his senses. Shadows, flickering in and out of existence, followed them yet fled from them at the same time. He couldn't sense them clearly, yet he could still tell that there was something out there, lurking. Darkness, familiar darkness; it tempted him, nearly luring him away from his companions, and he wanted it; he wanted to reach for it so badly, yet knew not to.

Darkness, menacing yet awfully gentle, caressed his senses before once again retreating back into the recesses of his mind, watching, waiting. Allen ignored its presence, allowing the shadow to retreat without comment. It could keep watching from within forever for all that he cared, but he was very much aware of that it would not remain content with watching for long. It would no doubt attempt to devour him eventually, but he had every intention of making it as difficult as possible. If anything, then he would make sure things ended up the other way around, with him devouring it instead, just like he had done with Red, absorbing and integrating it into himself.

After all, Allen doubted he could ever live with himself in case he became someone's puppet; if anyone was going to be a puppet master in his life, that person would be him, and he would by no means allow others to pull his strings in order to force him in a certain direction. Still, even now, he could feel a slight tug from somewhere, a beckon and a call for him to allow himself to be led astray.

**- o0o -**

_"Charity rarely comes without strings attached…"_

**- o0o -**

Silver-grey eyes watched the waning moon where it hung in the sky, surrounded by numerous constellations of stars.

**- o0o -**

"_Will you join me… Allen Walker?"_

**- o0o -**

Words echoed within him as his sleep-deprived mind was once again getting ready to pull him back under to compensate for the many sleepless nights it had been responsible for. Then, his lips moved, seemingly of their own accord, relaying the words even as his mind continued to drift.

"What are you doing?" the brat – Timothy – asked, rolling over to look at him, watching him sleepily.

He smiled, turning his eyes skywards. "Who knows?"

_Honestly… What am I doing?_

**- o0o -**

Timothy Hearst honestly could not decide what to make of Allen Walker, the white-haired teen whom he had decided to follow instead of making his way back to France and the orphanage. On one hand, Timothy admired Allen greatly, while on the other, he found himself questioning whether he was actually sane or not. Most of the time, Timothy found indications of it being the latter, even though Allen Walker was one of the most reasonable human beings he had ever known in his short but drifting life. Reasonable, but not exactly sane.

Then again, seeing that he had assembled a surprising amount of evidence which indicated that the world in itself was kind of mad, maybe Allen was actually one of the sanest people he had ever known. Despite only having known the teen for less than a month, Timothy had been quick to realise quite a few things about him, even though he was by no means able to tell what to make about him as a person.

Allen Walker was rational in one sense, yet irrational in another, and his general life philosophy appeared to be one which was based on practicality rather than morals; he felt no need to justify his actions to anyone, and there was no guilt in his eyes as far as Timothy could see when the teen skilfully relieved yet another oblivious gentleman of his purse to further finance their continued journey eastward. Another thing which Timothy soon learned about Allen was that the teen did not trust anyone, at least not anywhere beyond the amount which was absolutely critical.

If he could actually be said to give his trust to anyone, then that person was Miranda, and he only did so reluctantly; perhaps it was because Miranda was probably the most harmless human being Timothy had ever encountered, or perhaps there was something else in her demeanour which awarded her with a rare display of emotion as a smile – small but seemingly honest – crossed Allen's face as she showed him her gradually improving skill in needlework in handing back the ragged-looking coat she had mended for him with a great deal of effort, making the woman blush and seemingly swell with pride, as though that single smile had been the equivalent to an elaborate compliment on her work, which in Timothy's opinion appeared half-shoddy at best. Still, maybe one of Allen's smiles was actually equal to a compliment or a word of praise, seeing that few words of praise – of any kind, for that matter – ever left his mouth in their presence.

Allen's face was a carefully constructed mask; all that could be seen on it was what Allen was letting them see, and he appeared to favour keeping it all to himself, thoughts and emotions included. Still, even though he normally kept his thoughts to himself, it had become increasingly apparent to Timothy that while Allen appeared to accept their company, he by no means relished in it, appearing far more confused by their attempts to be helpful to him than anything else.

Allen Walker was everything and nearly always two opposites combined. If the world was in black and white, as that bastard Cross had said it was, then Allen would be a grey existence, caught up in-between the two sides, sitting on the fence, siding with neither. Timothy admired him for that, knowing it took a lot of courage to stand in-between two opposing sides, yet at times he wondered whether it was courage which had driven him there and whether it was indecision which had kept him there, on the borderline. Then again, knowing Allen and his reluctance to conform, perhaps he was merely refusing to do just that, refusing to pick a side because neither appealed to him.

Allen Walker was an accommodator of Innocence, but he was by no means an exorcist. Timothy's first encounter with Allen's other form – the Crowned Clown – had been a turbulent one, but even so, he had found himself bedazzled by the shimmering white cloak to the very extent that he had found himself thinking about it for hours to no end. It was, as far as he could tell, one of the most – if not the most – beautiful thing he had ever seen in this world which from time to time took on a quite ugly shape. The ethereal figure – cloaked and masked and utterly mysterious – danced in the moonlight, doing away with the akuma with such elegance it looked almost rehearsed. Razor-like claws sliced through the night, swift and without mercy… or perhaps they were swift because they were merciful, ending the anguish their tormented souls had suffered since the day of their revival.

**- o0o -**

"_There's no way to save it except to destroy it…"_

_He stared at what remained of the akuma which had attacked them._

_He was shocked, saddened and utterly disgusted, all at once._

_Cross' gun, Judgement, still smoked from having fired the shot which had put the akuma out of its misery._

**- o0o -**

"Allen?" He received no answer. Rolling over onto his side, he lay there for a moment, watching Allen where he sat on a chair by a window, seemingly lost in thought, staring up at the moon. He tried again, louder this time around, and after a while, the other directed his gaze towards him. Silent silver-grey eyes rested on him for a few moments before they once again turned elsewhere, gazing up at the moon and stars in the sky above. "How come you never sleep at night?"

The eyes returned to look upon him, even in the darkness of the night he could tell as much.

Timothy really did not know what to make of Allen, what to expect of him. Was he expecting an answer or was he expecting something else? But, Allen lived to betray expectations; Allen lived to go far beyond them. Allen…

A sigh was heard as the person in question shifted slightly. Even so, Timothy nearly startled when the other suddenly began to speak, clearly but softly. "My mind won't let me sleep, because the night fills it with restlessness."

He heaved himself up and got to his feet, moving closer with silent and precise steps, stopping only when he was about half a metre away from the chair's backrest, unable to decide on whether he dared to move even closer. Unseen clouds must have scattered or drifted aside, because just a few moments later a ray of eerily bright moonlight came in through the window, illuminating the person sitting there. Timothy found himself swallowing soundly, picking up on the sudden eeriness of it all. He found himself suppressing a shiver. There was something, something which was amiss, something which was different from usual. But what?

He waited and he did so in silence, gradually tensing up. It was as though just by that sudden intrusion of moonlight, the person in the chair before him had been switched out for another. It felt like it, but was it really so?

The words slipped off his tongue way before he could stop them, spilling over his lips before he had even finished the thought properly. They were said in a hesitant and shaky voice which could have belonged to anyone, the kind of voice which did not at all suit him. "Who are you?"

The other turned his head slightly, tilting it to the side. Eyes, familiar yet unfamiliar, pinned him in his place where he stood, preventing him from taking a step backwards. "Who am I?" a melodic voice asked as those eyes kept on watching him, glimmering with something akin to amusement. "I am a lot of things and carry many names; I am the Crowned Clown and Red the Joker, the White Demon and also Allen Walker…"

The other paused briefly, tilting his head to the other side, still eyeing him with the same strange kind of amusement.

"Then what do I call you?" Timothy found himself asking, a bit frightened yet awfully fascinated at the same time.

A smile graced the face of the familiar stranger as he got up from the chair and turned, walking up to him and crouching before him, still illuminated by the eerily intense ray of moonlight. "I am Joker," the illuminated one said, holding out a hand for him to take. "I've been waiting for you."

**- o0o -**


	16. The Sixteenth Testament

…

**- o0o -**

**The Sixteenth Testament**

– **The Sixth Act, Part III –**

**The Road to Perdition**

**- o0o -**

"_Will you join me… Allen Walker?"_

**- o0o -**

Distorted images plagued him, appearing before his mind's eye as though they had been seared into it and could never be erased and forgotten. Flashing by in a seemingly endless stream, pointless memories blended with fragments of dreams – of nightmares – weaving a net with the seeming intent of trapping him there, in a place where the past, the present and the future coexisted not only with each other but also with numerous alternative realities, mixed up and distorted by fragments of dreams and other delusions; products of his subconscious, of his increasingly unstable mind. Indeed, he was very much aware of the fact that he was slipping, that he was gradually losing what little grip he had once held on reality, but for whatever reason, he honestly could not bring himself to care much about it, if at all. It was only a question of time before everything went to Hell anyhow, so he supposed that he would have little or no use of his sanity when that time eventually came to pass.

He heaved a sigh, continuing on his way.

**- o0o -**

"Come on! Let's go! Let's go!"

The brat – Timothy – was dragging them along to see some sort of spectacle – a festival – which was apparently taking place in the town they had eventually ended up in.

Silver-grey eyes studied the surroundings, taking in the seemingly never-ceasing torrent of people making their way down the main street, a procession led by men riding on the backs of elephants. It was a loud spectacle, but also a very colourful one, seeing that they were throwing some sort of coloured powder at each other.

Evidently, it did not require much intelligence to deduce that the festivities were religious in nature. Apparently, the rituals humans came up with in connection to religion were weird no matter where one went in the world, and although he found the sight of the procession passing by quite ridiculous in a sense, he supposed that it was a bit more interesting than the processions he had caught occasional glimpses of back in Europe. Then again, he knew little about religion and cared little for it, and as such, perhaps he was not in a position to judge seeing that he was an outsider, a nonbeliever. Religious festivals – whether they were located in India or elsewhere – were of little interest to him, yet his eyes still continued to seek out the gray-skinned and thoroughly decorated giants which were at the very centre of it. Elephants; these were the first ones he had ever laid eyes on. The Ringmaster, in all his greed and thirst for fame, had still refused to buy any even though they did hold a sensational value. Apparently, the man had considered them to be far too unpredictable and dangerous to use in a performance, and even though the man himself was not exactly known for his good judgement, Allen supposed there might actually have been something in it when he watched the elephants and the surrounding crowd make their way towards some temple.

Somewhat grudgingly, he allowed himself to be dragged along, having made the swift judgement that he would have been forced to deal with something even more troublesome in case he had openly voiced a refusal to go along, and hence, he had decided to be lenient. Still, as he soon realised when they had made their way a bit further down the path, the feeling of uneasiness which had arisen within him – starting out as a twinge – was steadily growing stronger. Something was off, and it called to him. He should have known better than to heed the silent whispers of a multitude of invisible shadows, but for some utterly inexplicable reason he felt almost compelled to follow the path and to mingle with the outskirts of the crowd, even as his feelings of uneasiness kept on growing stronger.

He could sense them clearly, the looks that were sent their way. Few of them were friendly, and he knew why and could not really fault the people who sent them. They were clearly foreigners, and seeing that they spoke English to each other there was really only one connection which people would make, and he knew that the people in this area – in this country – had not been treated kindly by the British.

Allen looked up, scrutinising his companions, trying to discern whether or not any of them had noticed the same thing he had. Their facial expressions implied that they were oblivious, but their body language told another story altogether; whether they were fully aware of it or not, they were clearly reacting to it in some way. It was faint, but it was there, and their tenseness gradually became more and more evident.

Having established that, he soon turned his eyes elsewhere, in the direction where he could still see the backs of the elephants as they strode. He then closed his eyes for a brief moment, allowing his other senses to reach out; trying to determine exactly what was amiss. Almost immediately, his eyes shot back open and he stopped briefly in his tracks. He sensed the onslaught of eyes, but once he turned, his silent observers had already faded into obscurity within the masses, where his senses could not distinguish them properly.

Disembodied voices once again made themselves heard, echoing within him.

**- o0o -**

"_Keep on walking."_

**- o0o -**

He stopped.

**- o0o -**

"_I've grown tired of walking."_

**- o0o -**

He looked up.

**- o0o -**

_"Don't you have any friends?"_

**- o0o -**

Something exploded.

**- o0o -**

"_I don't need friends."_

**- o0o -**

There was fire.

**- o0o -**

"_I don't want to get involved…"_

**- o0o -**

Elephants, if he remembered things correctly, were absolutely terrified of fire.

**- o0o -**

"_I don't want to get involved…"_

**- o0o -**

They were fast, aggressive, protective and unpredictable. Dangerous.

**- o0o -**

Some time ago, Allen had wondered whether or not the world had gone mad on him. At the moment, he wondered when he himself had surrendered to the embrace of insanity, whether he had abandoned reason for the sake of foolish endeavours, seeing to the fact that he was still standing where he was, even as he could clearly sense danger as it approached in the shape of terrified beasts heading in their direction at a high speed, trampling numerous people on the way, as not all had enough presence of mind or speed to flee in time. Even so, Allen found that he was watching it all with a kind of morbid fascination, even as the danger came closer and closer at an accelerating rate.

**- o0o -**

"_I don't want to get involved…"_

**- o0o -**

The panicked animals made the process short with the tiny humans nestled on their backs, grabbing them with their trunks or throwing them off and piercing them with their tusks. It was all gruesome and bloody, but still fascinating to watch all the same.

Red; it was such a pretty colour.

Even so, sensing the clear distress of his comrades as the panicking beasts closed in even more when someone – he couldn't tell who it was, seeing that he had the brunt of his attention directed elsewhere – was obviously in too much of a shock to escape, Allen sighed and stepped forward.

He began walking in the direction which was the exact opposite of the one everyone else was going in, calmly making his way closer to the danger. Strangely calm, yet intensely focused all the same, he nearly missed the calls of distress from his comrades as they noticed what he was doing, and he momentarily wondered whether or not they would actually be stupid enough to attempt to follow.

**- o0o -**

"_Honestly… what am I doing?"_

**- o0o -**

He came to a stop, standing in the midst of a mostly deserted plaza of some sort. It was empty, at least if one disregarded the scattered bodies of people who had been trampled by the fleeing masses, besides him and the three elephants which were making their way across it, heading towards him. Allen could tell that they would probably make their way past him in case he did not remain in their path, but if he stepped aside, he knew that even more people would get caught up in their rampage.

As things appeared, reason had temporarily abandoned him, allowing conceived notions to take its place. As things appeared, he suddenly gave a damn about what happened to other people. Still, the decision had already been made and although he would by no means trouble his mind with deciding whether it was the "right" decision or not, he found that he had no regrets in standing there. It was a foolish decision; that much was bloody obvious, but for some reason, it just felt like the obvious decision to make.

**- o0o -**

"_We're all fools… and fools we shall remain."_

**- o0o -**

He raised his hand – the right one – and closed his eyes, even as the ground shook and screams continued to ring in his ears.

**- o0o -**

"_I am nobody's fool."_

**- o0o -**

Silver-grey eyes shot back open, determined.

**- o0o -**

"_There are no miracles."_

**- o0o -**

_"There is no such thing as salvation or eternal life; we live, we die, and that's the end of it."_

**- o0o -**

_He was back there by that tree, crouching down beside the makeshift grave of Allen the Dog._

**- o0o -**

"_I hate clowns."_

**- o0o -**

"_Well, I hate crowds and children who don't laugh."_

**- o0o -**

_The mad clown placed the __small star-patterned ball on top of the pile of earth, putting his hands together in some sort of mock prayer._

**- o0o -**

_That stupid clown. _

_Why did he try to make everything funny?_

**- o0o -**

"_Aren't you gonna cry?"_

**- o0o -**

_He didn't get humans; he really didn't._

**- o0o -**

"_He lived with you for a long time, didn't he?"_

**- o0o -**

_All their sentimentality and all that other bullshit… _

_Was there really a reason for it all?_

**- o0o -**

"_Aren't you sad?"_

**- o0o -**

_He didn't understand himself for asking about something so utterly pointless. _

_Why?_

**- o0o -**

_The mad clown, the sad clown… maddened by grief._

**- o0o -**

"_I'm so sad I could die."_

**- o0o -**

"_But I can't cry."_

**- o0o -**

"_Maybe my tears have dried up."_

**- o0o -**

"_They just won't come."_

**- o0o -**

Everything was calm, everything was quieting down. There were still moans of pain and of dying men and women and children, but the screams had all faded and been replaced with a silence which was so tense it could almost be touched. They were all holding their breath, unable to believe in what their eyes were telling them, unable to believe what they were seeing. He paid them little heed however, as he had all his attention focused on the grey-coloured giants before him. They too had stopped, ceasing their rampage just in time not to trample him, brought to a sudden stop right before him. Allen recalled the lions he knew back at the circus when trunks, curious but surprisingly gentle, reached out to prod his raised hand, investigating it with much interest. Despite knowing the danger he was still in, Allen could not help but wonder what they were picking up from it. Even so, he had wandered out there with such certainty, as though he had already known that the rampaging elephants would end up being brought to a stop before harming him. He couldn't understand it; it was as though someone else had been guiding his footsteps all along.

Slowly but certainly, he withdrew his hand. The elephants were still before him, staring at him as though they were waiting for something. His uneasiness gradually returned, and although it took a great deal of focus he reached out using his senses, trying to pinpoint the exact source of it. Shadows; he could sense them.

There was another explosion of some sort; he could sense it from the way the ground shook beneath him.

Voices. Actual and disembodied; they all called for him.

Elephants, regardless of whether they had been tamed or not, were dangerous and unpredictable creatures when faced with something they were terrified of. In the end, they were just like any other living creature, victims to their own instincts when it all came down to it.

With all due honesty, Allen had probably seen it coming, although for whatever reason, he honestly had not been able to bring himself to care about it very much, if at all. If anything, perhaps due to the utter absurdity of the situation, he felt like laughing.

**- o0o -**

_He laughed, due to both amusement and utter disbelief._

_"Salvation?"_

_He smiled._

_"For a person like me, there is no such thing as salvation…as I am one of those who are in no need of such a thing…"_

_His voice was as flat as always, expressing his indifference._

_"Regardless of whether we drown ourselves in sins or seek to live as saints, we all perish. There is no such thing as salvation or eternal life; we live, we die, and that's the end of it. What happens after that, if anything happens at all, is of no concern to me…"_

_It was true, or at least it was his truth._

_People lived, people died, and so would he, eventually. The end._

**- o0o -**


	17. The Seventeenth Testament

…

**- o0o -**

**The Seventeenth Testament**

– **The Seventh Act –**

**The Path Which Lies Ahead**

**- o0o -**

"_Red… What are you doing out here?"_

_He looked up, only then really noticing the person who was standing at the entrance, looking at him. _

_Slowly, he withdrew his hands from the keys, putting the lid back onto them, once again hiding them from the world._

"…_Nothing."_

_The person, the disheartened young musician, was looking at him again, and it was making him mildly uncomfortable. Those eyes, those tired eyes in that gaunt face; it was as though they were looking straight at him yet straight through him all the same._

_A smile crossed the young man's face and he turned partially, gazing out at the sun where it had just begun to disappear behind the treetops._

"_It's a beautiful sunset, isn't it?"_

_Red found himself frowning for a moment, but before long the frown was replaced with a look of indifference as he made use of the opportunity to escape which had been given when the musician had stepped aside to admire the sunset. He walked past him, pausing only briefly as his own eyes sought out the reddening ball of light as it sunk lower and lower in the sky, ready to disappear from sight at any time. _

"…_Is it?"_

_The musician was watching him again, appearing thoughtful yet seemingly amused at the same time. He said nothing for a while, and Red was just about to head elsewhere when the young man spoke up once more, looking up towards the skies, staring into the distance._

"_Some days…"_

_Red turned his head slightly, wondering what the man was on about this time around. He paused, waiting for the other to continue._

"_Some days… I cannot help but wonder…"_

_The young man went quiet once more, seemingly lost in thought._

_Eventually, Red's patience ran out._

"… _Wonder what?"_

_The young man looked up, startled, and then looked towards him as though he had forgotten about his presence. Then, he smiled softly before turning his eyes elsewhere once more._

"_No… it's nothing."_

**- o0o -**

_To have days off at times was an unexpected luxury to him, even though he had been tasked with going downtown to help a few other circus members restock their supplies._

_Red walked over some sort of plaza, pausing only briefly when he caught sight of a person who was standing a bit further away, holding a sermon of some sort to a gradually growing number of people who had paused in their shopping to hear what the man had to say._

_Red's eyes narrowed in disgust at the sight of the spectacle and he hurried his steps to make it past the congregation before he ended up getting involved in something troublesome. He had only just about made it out of hearing range when a hand lashed onto his shoulder and forcefully spun him around._

_Eyes, cold eyes, glared down at him._

"_Stop right there, you thief!"_

_He had barely even been able to wrap his mind about this kind of senseless accusation before they were upon him, pulling at his limbs and calling for someone to call for the police._

"_Let go."_

_His voice was positively frigid, but very calm, even though his mind was all over the place and even though he wanted nothing less than to growl at them, to defend himself and to deal the people surrounding him some serious physical damage. He needed to…_

_His right hand was held high, nearly being crushed in the hard grip of a tall and quite muscular man with a generally thug-like appearance._

_He gritted his teeth and had just about made himself ready to kick the man in certain sensitive areas when another hand suddenly turned up in his immediate line of vision, landing on the arm of the tall man who had been far too busy crushing his hand to notice the new arrival._

"_Will you be so kind as to release my young apprentice's hand, Sir?"_

_The musician stood there, balancing a paper bag on one arm, smiling disarmingly at the man._

_The muscular man just stared at him, surprised. Then, his grip on Red's hand gradually slackened until Red himself could pull it loose._

_It was hurting badly, but Red did not show it._

_An arm looped around his shoulders and he nearly startled before forcing himself to relax somewhat as the musician steered him elsewhere._

**- o0o -**

_He was sitting on the steps leading to a cathedral of some sort, cradling his hurting wrist._

_His hand had been neatly covered with bandages, courtesy of the young musician who now sat next to him on the steps, munching on an apple while staring thoughtfully into the distance._

"_Why did you interfere?"_

_The musician turned his head slightly, tilting it to the side, smiling disarmingly._

"_Why not?"_

_Red snorted, turning his eyes elsewhere._

"_Why were you there in the first place?"_

_The young man eyed him with a strange kind of amusement._

"_I heard a fool was holding a sermon on how humanity – sinful, so sinful – is to attain salvation, so I ended up heading there simply for the opportunity of a good laugh…"_

_Salvation?_

_Red looked up._

"_Salvation?" he snorted. "There is no such thing."_

_The young man smiled in response._

"… _Perhaps."_

_Silence._

_The musician finished eating his apple. Then he turned slightly with what little remained of it in his hand and threw it at the cathedral without any hesitation. The apple core smashed against the large oak doors, and the young man let out a whistle as it partially disintegrated, staining the wooden doors with its stickiness and fruity splendour._

_Red eyed him with interest, saying nothing._

"_Sometimes…" the young musician said, his voice light yet still laced with some degree of bitterness. "Salvation can only be attained through destruction…"_

_Red said nothing. Then, he got back to his feet, having finished his evaluation of the man's character._

"_You're weird."_

_The young musician laughed. Then he stuck his hand back into the paper bag and pulled out another apple, offering it to him._

"_Want one?"_

_Red snorted._

"…_No."_

_The musician just kept on smiling._

"_It's just an apple," he said. "Have it."_

"_I don't need it," Red shot back._

"_You sure?" the musician persisted._

_Red said nothing, eyes narrowing slightly._

"_Take it," the musician insisted, holding it out to him._

"_I don't need charity," he finally said, his voice flat. "Not from you, not from anyone."_

_The musician smiled again._

"_True," he said. "But it is not charity… it is a gift."_

_Red found himself frowning again._

"… _For what?"_

_The young man said nothing, continuing to smile in that annoyingly secretive way for a few moments before he once again turned his eyes elsewhere, staring thoughtfully at nothing in particular._

"_One day… you'll probably understand."_

_Red snorted, but he took the apple all the same._

"_I won't."_

_The musician just continued smiling._

"_Oh, but you will, I assure you…"_

_Red really did not understand humans, but if he ever did learn to understand them someday, the young man beside him would no doubt remain a mystery to him even then._

_After all, madmen could only be understood by other madmen, and as far as Red was aware, he had yet to cross over that line. Sure, even he would care to admit that he was teetering close to the edge at times, but he had always made sure he never strayed too far from the borderline._

_Besides, the issue of sanity was a relative one, and considering the shape of the world, maybe the madmen were actually the sanest of them all, at least to some extent._

_Red honestly did not know and he honestly did not care._

_He took another bite out of the apple, savouring its sweetness._

**- o0o -**

"_Don't stop. Keep walking."_

**- o0o -**

_"Keep walking? But where should I go?"_

**- o0o -**

_I carve my own path… _

_I shape my own fate… _

_I'll keep on walking… _

_Until the very end…_

**- o0o -**

_I don't want to get involved…_

_But…_

**- o0o -**

_"If you want to come along, then go ahead. But decide quickly."_

**- o0o -**

_"Come along if you like, stay if you like. Choose now, choose quickly."_

**- o0o -**

_But…_

_It'll be farther to turn back now than to move forward…_

**- o0o -**

_"What are you doing?"_

_"Who knows?"_

**- o0o -**

_Eyes, orb-like and glowing, haunted his dreams._

**- o0o -**

_He closed his eyes._

**- o0o -**

"_Will you join me… Allen Walker?"_

**- o0o -**

_He opened them again, and Mana – the mad clown – stood in the Earl's place._

**- o0o -**

"_Keep on walking."_

**- o0o -**

"_I've grown tired of walking."_

**- o0o -**

_He closed them again, allowing soothing darkness to embrace him and to whisk him away._

**- o0o -**

_He opened them again, his eyes __meeting the face of the musician where he stood._

"_So… what happens now?"_

_The musician smiled._

"_Now… I walk forward."_

_He made a move to follow him, but the young musician held up his hand, stopping him._

"_You can't come along. It's still too early for you."_

_He snorted in response._

"_I have lived way past my life expectancy already," he said. "It was bound to happen eventually anyway…"_

_The young musician said nothing for a while. Then he burst into laughter._

_Allen found himself staring at him in utter disbelief._

"_You'll make it through," the musician said with confidence. "Both of you."_

_He made a gesture and Allen turned._

_There was nothing there._

**- o0o -**

Awareness returned slowly to him, and along with it came an agonising kind of pain he could very much have done well without. He found himself staring up into an unfamiliar and surprisingly decorated ceiling; even though his vision was still quite blurry, he was able to tell that much without any difficulty.

An unfamiliar face, the face of a brown-haired teen his own age, entered his line of vision. "How are you feeling?" the brown-haired teen asked in lightly accented English.

Allen studied him with a fair deal of interest, having sensed something. Then, he merely shrugged inwardly and opened his mouth to answer, although his mouth was so dry that his voice came out more as a croak than anything else. "…Sore."

"Well, it's no wonder; you're lucky to even be alive!" the other boy huffed, turning to resume whatever he had been doing previously. "Honestly, I do wonder which Gods keep an eye out for you… From what I can tell, none of your vitals were hit, but you would still have bled to death had he not dived in and brought you out when he did so that I could put a stop to the bleeding…"

"…He?" Allen questioned.

The teen reappeared in his line of vision. "The man who brought you in," he responded. "I don't recall him giving a name, but he was not from around here as far as I can tell… He left pretty soon after I had assured him of your continued survival, so who knows where he went after that…"

Allen pushed himself up into a sitting position with much effort, trying to recall the last time he had been in this sort of miserable condition. This was probably the first time, seeing that no other events came to mind. Gentle hands eased him down again and he let them, far too exhausted to put up a fight. Honestly, perhaps he had truly died back there, at least partially?

The voices, so clear just a few moments previously, had once again become distorted, intermingling with the voices within. Darkness was closing in on him again, slowly, but he still kept his eyes trained on the back of the retreating form of the person who had apparently been responsible for his continued survival after this latest stunt of his. "Allen Walker…" the brown-haired teen turned around. "You are currently in the house of Mrs. Urmina…"

Allen tilted his head to the side in question, and the other appeared to be just a tad ill at ease with his rather intense scrutiny, although to Allen, his reasons for being ill at ease were entirely valid and quite sensible; he was probably a very dangerous person after all.

"I am Narein, her general practitioner," the teen said, having made his way up to the doorway, ready to part the beaded curtains to leave the room. "You should rest. You have got your life ahead of you… You've been given a second chance; don't waste it…"

Gradually, his voice faded into the distance, and Allen found himself fading at the same rate. Once more, he surrendered to the darkness, allowing himself to be pulled under.

**- o0o -**

_A single blood-red drop fell down, rippling the surface._

_Rings spread over the waters before echoing out into nothingness, but new ripples soon took their place._

_He was standing there, standing upon the surface itself._

_Above him, the waning moon hung in the sky, reflected beneath him in the sea of crimson._

_He shivered._

_Silver-grey eyes turned skywards, looking up towards the moon._

_Stars, ones which were mostly unfamiliar to him, appeared to be drifting closer to it, surrounding it from all sides._

_It was cold; his breath was like a white cloud._

_Snowflakes whirled around him, falling from a clear sky._

_There was a presence behind him._

_He turned._

"_Your time… is running out."_

_He smiled._

"_I know."_

**- o0o -**


	18. The Eighteenth Testament

…

**- o0o -**

**The Eighteenth Testament**

– **The Eighth Act, Part I –**

**The Footsteps of Shadows**

**- o0o -**

Awareness returned slowly to him, accompanied by a great deal of pain – an amount which was sufficient enough to be classified as agonising in Allen's opinion – but for some inexplicable reason he still found that he preferred it to the numbness which still lingered in a few of his extremities. Still, tossing and turning as he did on occasion while raged by a fever which only continued to rise, Allen found the pain quite useful in the sense that it kept him quite firmly rooted in reality as far as he could tell, preventing his senses from being too muddled by the feverish delusions which plagued him to and fro. Though on second thought, were they truly just delusions?

He cracked an eye open, surveying the world through a dishevelled curtain of white hair which was slightly damp from either sweat or water, but probably a mixture of both. Faces immediately swam into his vision, blurry but very much recognisable to him. He immediately shut his eyes again, but the damage had already been done as the faces closed in and hands firmly clasped his.

"Allen…" Miranda's voice rang clear in his head and he cringed slightly, unable to refrain from doing it as other voices invaded his head and resonated within it, worsening the headache which had plagued him on a nearly constant basis ever since he ended up in there and possibly even before then; for the moment, he really could not tell for sure and truth to be told, he honestly did not care much as long as it went away within an imaginable future. "Thank God… you're finally awake…"

Her voice indicated that she was close to tears, but Allen knew well that she was probably crying already. _Honestly…_

Someone shifted, tightening their grip on his right hand, squeezing it until they threatened to crush it. "We feared for your life, brat," Crowley said with a hint of a growl in his voice. "Never do such a foolish thing again…"

There was a hum of agreement, probably from Timothy, but Allen barely registered it. He huffed in disbelief at the underlying threat he had detected in the older man's voice. Then, very much aware of the fact that his companions would no doubt continue to pester him even if he went back to feigning unconsciousness, Allen reluctantly opened his eyes again, blinking a few times to try and get them more used to daylight again. "So I heard…" he finally rasped, feeling a stab in his abdomen as he attempted to sit up. "Ouch."

'Ouch' was a grave understatement. He would have cried out in agony if he had not had an audience.

Almost immediately, the hands which had held his so firmly just moments previously had let go and found a new purpose, namely pushing him back down again.

"D-don't try to get up," Miranda said, her eyes red, slightly bloodshot and annoyingly concerned. "You have a high fever… so just lie down and rest, okay?"

"You might just end up tied to the bed otherwise," Timothy cut in, crossing his arms and puffing up his cheeks. Allen's eyes rested on him for a few moments as he was to some degree torn between not only disbelief and indignation, but also a fair amount of amusement. _Honestly…_

He rolled over onto his side, facing away from them, ignoring the pain he stirred up with his movements. "In such case…" he rasped. "Put me out of my misery already…"

It was partially true, but did contain a fair bit of humour as well, although it soon became quite apparent that his companions did not appreciate it.

"This is no laughing matter," Crowley shot back. "You nearly died back there!"

"… I'm still here, am I not?" Allen responded, deadpan. "Nearly is not enough to kill me, you know?"

"You nearly bled to death!" Miranda protested.

Allen barely managed to resist a sudden urge to roll his eyes at all of this. Instead, he worked up enough energy to swing his legs over the edge of the bed, sitting back up in no time at all. His head was spinning though, indicating that he might have sat up just a bit too quickly, but Allen paid it no heed as he planted his feet firmly onto the floor and made himself ready to rise to his feet before any of his annoyingly concerned attendants managed to stop him. Crowley was swiftly at his side though, seemingly having predicted his actions.

"Lie back down, lad," Crowley ordered. "You'll open up your wound again."

Allen's eyes narrowed in response. "I don't take kindly to being ordered around."

He really didn't, but they just did not seem to get it somehow.

"You may punish me as you see fit," Crowley growled, grabbing him by the arms. "But only after you have recovered…"

Allen snorted in response, his eyes darting off in direction of the others for a brief moment before once again returning to level Crowley with a look which was anything but friendly and held promise of a great deal of pain and possible death in case said man did not remove himself from his immediate vicinity before the last bits of his patience finally ran out.

"Allen… Don't be reckless," Miranda pleaded, but he readily ignored her, having the greater part of his attention directed elsewhere. "We're worried."

He huffed in response, taking pleasure in noting that his earlier dizziness had faded almost entirely. He looked up at Crowley again for a brief moment before sending a well-aimed kick at the man's shin. Clearly caught by surprise, the man loosened his grip and Allen swiftly brushed it off as he stood up and made it past him, steering his steps in direction of a nearby window. "All better already," he said, turning around to glare at them as they attempted to approach him from behind. "Try to stop me and I'll hurt you."

A tense silence settled in the room. Allen levelled his eyes on Crowley, glaring, and he on his end returned the glare with an equal amount of viciousness, all while Miranda and Timothy continued to observe them both with an undeniable wariness, one which was appeared a bit more prominent when their eyes were directed towards him. For what seemed like a long time, no one moved, and eventually Allen turned his back on them and stepped towards the window.

"Humph," Crowley snorted before baring his teeth in a distinctly predatory manner. "I would like to see you try…"

Sensing what was incoming, Allen reacted on instinct and sought to make his escape, but before he managed to get that far, a breath on the back of his neck announced to him that he had been too slow. Honestly, where were his throwing knives when he could actually have made good use of them? He swung around, ready to fight his way through if he needed to, but Crowley was faster. A sharp pain rang through him, following which awareness began to fade at a rapid rate, but he did feel when his body was caught and he did hear Miranda's somewhat indignant cry before the world faded to black.

**- o0o -**

"_There are some akuma nearby…"_

**- o0o -**

"_Timothy and I'll take care of them, so stay here and make sure he doesn't go anywhere in his state…"_

**- o0o -**

Awareness had seemingly faded, or at least waned to such a degree that did not appear to be present. The voices and their owners had faded, but echoes lingered in their wake.

There was a voice – a male voice – and it was kind and warm and oddly so.

**- o0o -**

"_You've been up all night since that time. You should go rest."_

**- o0o -**

Another voice, belonging to a woman he knew very well, spoke up, betraying her hesitance.

**- o0o -**

"_But-…"_

**- o0o -**

The male voice spoke again, reassuringly.

**- o0o -**

"_I'll watch over him. I'll make sure he doesn't do anything stupid, and I'll wake you up in case anything happens…"_

**- o0o -**

Silence.

**- o0o -**

"_Okay?"_

**- o0o -**

More silence.

**- o0o -**

Someone was dabbing his forehead again; it was an oddly familiar sensation, as though someone had been doing it a lot as of late. He cracked an eye open where he lay, once again on his side, surveying the dark shape seated by his bedside. The hand which had been holding the wet rag to his brow slowly withdrew, likely having noticed that he had regained consciousness.

"I must admit…" he whispered, allowing his eye to slid shut again as he relaxed into the bed, more tired than earlier. "I never expected to have my life saved by an akuma…"

The general practitioner – Narein or whatever he had introduced himself as – snorted in apparent amusement or possible disbelief, but the dark eyes which rested on Allen where he lay were wary and understandingly so. "When did you figure it out?"

Allen reopened his eyes, trying to get them used to the darkness which reigned in the room. It appeared as though night had fallen during the time he had been out. "I knew it from the moment I laid eyes on you."

The akuma paused in its movements. Then it chuckled lightly and wrung most of the water out of the rag before continuing to dab his forehead. "Is that so? Then there's little to do about that…"

Allen remained where he was, levelling his eyes on a nearby window, catching a glimpse of the night sky out there, covered with stars which seemed brighter than he remembered them. He shifted slightly. "Are you going to try to kill me now?"

The akuma stilled momentarily before once again resuming its task. "No," it finally responded. "Lord Noah brought you here to retrieve treatment, not to be killed off; in such case, he would have done the honours himself…"

Allen closed his eyes. "Are you going to try to kill the others?"

"Their fates will be up to Lord Noah to decide, not me…" the akuma responded.

Silence reigned for a few moments as the akuma went on with what it was doing all while Allen simply lay there, too exhausted both mentally and physically to bother moving about. His fever must have spiked again; he felt like he was burning on the inside. "What's your name?" he finally asked, reopening his eyes. "Your real name."

Again, the akuma's movements stilled. "It was such a long time ago; I have forgotten already…" it finally said. "I used to dance a lot, but then I got sick and died… and my brother went mad with grief and turned me into an akuma…"

Allen said nothing, simply studying the other's appearance out of the corner of his eye. The story really did not come as much of a surprise to him, but it did clarify things for him; if nothing else then it did explain the shadow of a young woman he had caught a glimpse of when he had first opened his eyes.

The impression was suddenly clearer now, and when he looked the image of the teen had faded and been largely replaced by that of the woman whose soul was supposedly used in the making of said akuma, and she smiled sadly at him. "Since that day… I became Narein and strove to become a doctor, just like he would have, had he been alive…" she said. "This may just be my naïve thinking though, but sometimes it really feels as though brother still lives on somewhere deep within me…"

Pausing, she once again withdrew from him, her voice lingering with him even as the world around him once again faded. "Back then… I was very angry with him for what he had done, but I…"

**- o0o -**

"_I didn't want to kill him, but…"_

**- o0o -**

"_The Earl's orders are absolute… but I…"_

**- o0o -**

"_But I…"_

**- o0o -**

His eyes snapped back open, startled.

**- o0o -**

"_Crowley?"_

**- o0o -**

"_What is it, Brat?"_

**- o0o -**

"_I have a bad feeling about this." _

**- o0o -**

"_Let's just head back to the others."_

**- o0o -**

Amber eyes entered his line of vision. He flinched instinctively before he was able to stop himself. The slight movement proved sufficient enough to jar his wound, causing him to hiss in pain. "Tyki… Mikk."

White teeth flashed in the darkness, bared in a rather sinister grin. "We meet again, Boy."

**- o0o -**


	19. The Nineteenth Testament

…

**- o0o -**

**The Nineteenth Testament**

– **The Eighth Act, Part II –**

**The Lone Wolf and the Place of Belonging**

**- o0o -**

Darkness, familiar yet unfamiliar, was upon him. Thick and heavy, it hovered above him as if ready to suffocate him at any point in time, all while amber eyes continued watching him with a kind of badly concealed amusement. "We meet again, Boy. It must be fate then."

Allen rolled over, deliberately turning away from them, groaning. "Oh… Fuck off."

He did not need to see the Noah's surprised facial expression to know it was there; it was bloody apparent to him even without him confirming it by taking a look. Honestly; he was in no state whatsoever to deal with this kind of troublesome things at the moment.

"Hey… what's up with the attitude?" Tyki snickered. "Is that really any way to greet your saviour?"

Allen snorted in response, rolling over onto his back to stare blankly at the ceiling.

"Not much for humour, are you, Boy?"

He snorted again, annoyed. Then, after several moments of silence, he directed his eyes to the person at his bedside, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Had I not… had this hole in my abdomen… and been in an agonising amount of pain… I would have humoured you… 'Lord Noah'," he finally said, glaring.

"Ah, sarcasm… what a sweet sound it makes," Tyki snickered in response, leaning closer. "But honestly, since I'm rather surprised that you managed to uncover my identity just like that, I must ask… what tipped you off?"

Silver-grey eyes continued to glare at him in silence. "Your voice… and your presence," Allen finally yielded, closing his eyes. "I know killing intent when I sense it… and even though it's subtle, I can clearly smell the blood on your hands…"

The other's smirk was evident even though he did not see it. "That's because I killed two exorcists not very far from here tonight, although I could easily have killed three."

Silver-grey eyes shot back open.

"My," Tyki Mikk chuckled, putting out a hand to touch forehead, brushing white tresses aside. "You got really pale there for a second. Are you alright… Allen?"

Allen put his hand up and swatted the other's hand away, using a bit more force than necessary. "Don't touch me," he hissed, earning an amused chuckle in return as the other withdrew, smirk broadening. Allen paid it virtually no heed however, as he instead found his focus shifting onto his heart, which had picked up its pace; an instinctual reaction no doubt, but why?

"I must admit that I took you for a lone wolf when I first laid eyes on you," Tyki said, snickering. "But it seems like I was wrong…"

Allen said nothing, but his eyes narrowed even further as he continued watching the other with a mixture of wariness and contempt.

"Oh well, it shouldn't matter much…" the Noah continued, pausing briefly as his smirk broadened to a grin. "Because now… you are a lonely wolf anyhow…"

Instincts took control and lashed out before Allen could rein them in, but his opponent as even faster. Before long, both of his wrists had been caught and he had been pinned down onto the bed in virtually no time at all, all while his opponent leaned in close to eliminate any chance of him gathering enough of a momentum to make another attempt. "But you know…" Tyki Mikk said, his tobacco-smelling breath hot against his throat. "Wolves shouldn't befriend sheep in the first place, and you know that deep down… which is why you've always pushed others away…"

Allen gritted his teeth in response, frustrated both at the situation in itself as well as at his own bodily weakness; if anything, the feeling of being at anyone else's mercy was even worse than anything he could possibly imagine at the time. "Quit… talking… bullshit," he hissed, his body instinctively tensing up as the other leaned even closer.

"But you've always been searching, haven't you?" Tyki Mikk said. "For a place to belong, for someone to call family… but then you probably came to the conclusion that you don't belong anywhere…"

Allen snorted, eyeing him in distaste. Then, unable to remain idle in such a pathetic pinned-down position for any longer, he went for a headbutt. Tyki hissed in pain, spitting out swearwords in some vaguely familiar foreign language. Then, the pained hissing gradually morphed into laughter as the Noah looked appraisingly at his temporarily trapped assailant. "That's the spirit, little wolf."

Allen bared his teeth in response, his headache having intensified by his rather unorthodox choice of attack and retaliation. "Let go."

"No," Tyki responded, not letting up on his grip in the least even with the massive bruise which was by then forming on his forehead.

"I'll kick you," Allen shot back, deadpan.

Tyki snickered, trying to hide a pained wince while he was at it. "Go ahead and try if you dare."

Allen's eyes narrowed in response. "What do you want?" he eventually inquired.

Finally, Tyki stopped snickering. Instead, amber eyes looked down at him, eerily calculating. Then again, seeing that Allen was well aware of the man's association to that other madman and said madman's way of doing things, that calculating glint in said Noah's eyes should not have come as any surprise to him whatsoever, all things considered.

"You're running out of time," Tyki finally said, withdrawing and relinquishing his grip on him while doing so. "The Earl will soon be expecting an answer from you, and when that time comes…" he paused momentarily, getting back onto his feet and walking a few steps towards the window. "Your place in the world… is amongst us, the other members of the Noah clan," he then said, smirking. "Or at least it will be, soon enough."

Allen said nothing as he sat up. His eyes rested on the Noah, staring calmly at him in silence, waiting. The Noah obviously had something more to say to him, and perhaps he would go away if Allen humoured him by at least pretending to listen to what he had to say.

"Just for the record…" Tyki said, leaning his back to the wall while eyeing him somewhat lazily. "Should the Order ever learn what you are… or rather, what you'll eventually become… you will be hunted down and locked up as a test subject."

Allen snorted where he sat. "Tell me something I don't know," he responded, closing his eyes for a couple of seconds before opening them again. "I walk my own path… and I shape my own fate," he said. "If I have to have my life dictated by either side, I'd rather die."

Tyki Mikk just whistled in response. "Hoh? That's an interesting viewpoint," he then said, smirking. "What makes you say that?"

Saying nothing for a while, Allen finally looked up again, this time bearing a hint of determination hidden amongst the deep-lying indifference which had previously dominated his features. "It is as you say; my time is running out," he said. "So for what little time I have left, I wish to live as myself… until the very end…"

Tyki Mikk snickered in response. "If you are strong then you will live on," he then said, turning and walking right out through the wall, disappearing into the night. "Even as a Noah…"

Without a word, Allen was out of the bed and up on his feet, standing next to the window, but there was no sign of the Noah by then. With a sigh of either relief or exhaustion, he proceeded to collapse right then and there, accepting the darkness when it called to him, allowing it to embrace him, to numb the pain in his side and pull him back under, into that place where only darkness and echoes of disembodied voices mattered.

**- o0o -**

"_Don't you have any friends?"_

**- o0o -**

_It was that stupid clown again._

_Perhaps if he just humoured him, perhaps he would shut up and stop asking annoying questions then?_

**- o0o -**

"_When I grow up…"_

**- o0o -**

"_When I grow up… I'm getting out of here as soon as I'm strong enough, so I don't need friends…"_

**- o0o -**

"…_I don't need friends…"_

**- o0o -**

Morning came to him sooner than expected, bringing along a kind of inquisitiveness in his companions which he could have done well without. Bedridden as he was though, he found that he minded it surprisingly little; if nothing else then their presence and their questions were keeping him from dying out of sheer boredom while people insisted on him staying right where he was, in order for him not to stress his wound – the wound which had been inflicted on him by a panicking elephant's tusk as it had dug deeply into his side, narrowly missing a few of his vital organs while it had been at it – and in order for him to rest and to recover some of the sleep he had been losing out on.

"So…" Timothy – his self-appointed entertainment of the hour – said, sounding strangely thoughtful and contemplative for a change. "That person was…"

"Yes…" Allen responded, knowing the other would continue to stare at him until he gave him an answer. "Narein… was an aspiring young doctor… and he had a sister, but she fell ill and died… and maddened with grief, he brought her back…"

He paused briefly and finished peeling the last of the oranges Timothy had brought in with him before he continued speaking, just as disinterested as before. "The sister, or the akuma who had taken in her soul, then took on Narein's form and went on living as him for years..."

"That's so sad."

Allen looked up at him then, mildly surprised at the rather straightforwardly emotional response the other had given. Then again, considering the fact that his conversational partner was a mere child, emotional responses of such a kind were by no means to be considered odd, especially not considering the brat's insufferable temper.

"I think… she didn't want to kill him…" Timothy then said, looking mildly forlorn when he did.

"She had to," Allen responded, shrugging mildly. "The Earl's orders are absolute."

Suspicious brown eyes turned towards him. "How so? What makes you say that? Why are the Earl's orders absolute?"

Allen blinked, genuinely taken by surprise for a brief moment before a sense of realisation dawned upon him. "…That bastard really didn't teach you anything, did he?" he finally asked, silently wondering why he had not picked up on this earlier.

"…Not much," Timothy admitted, a hint of bitterness coating his voice.

Sighing, Allen put what little remained of the orange into his mouth, chewing it a couple of times before swallowing. "A person once told me…"

"A person?" Timothy immediately repeated, looking up at him with a great deal of curiosity.

Allen inwardly sighed again, wishing he had not just said that. Then again, it was already too late to turn back so he might as well go along with it. "A person I knew a long time ago once told me…" he began, trying to recall who that person was, coming up with nothing. "…That the soul of an akuma has no freedom…that it is eternally restrained as one of the Earl's toys…"

"Who was that?" Timothy immediately asked.

Allen just shrugged again. "…Who knows?"

Actually, he did know, having recalled vague memories of an existence which had already come to pass. Now that he thought about it, he had actually seen the person in question quite a few times over the years, or at least he had caught onto the echoes of the man's existence as they lingered in his consciousness and weaved themselves into the dreams which haunted him both in sleep and in times of wakefulness.

"Come on… who told you that?" Timothy insisted. "I want to know…"

Silence settled between them, but Timothy continued looking at him, his eyes demanding an explanation. Finally, Allen caved in, seeing to the fact that he was very much familiar with the stubbornness of the brat in question. Timothy's occasional tantrums were a severe annoyance, and with his current confinement and compromised mobility, Allen found that he would rather prevent one than suffer through it, seeing that he couldn't leave the room and the annoyance behind at any time he wanted. Sighing, he began. "Once upon a time…"

**- o0o -**

"_There was a musician and his younger brother…"_

**- o0o -**

"_And then… the musician suddenly died, and his brother went mad with grief and met the Earl…"_

**- o0o -**

"_And so the Earl asked the question… the question he asks each and every time he greets a person in grief…"_

**- o0o -**

"_And the distraught brother said yes…"_

**- o0o -**

"_The musician was called back and was turned into an akuma, and in rage he attacked his brother… who begged for his life…"_

**- o0o -**

"_And surprisingly enough, the Earl called for the akuma to a stop and pardoned the horrified brother of the musician… having found a much better use for him…"_

**- o0o -**

"_And the distraught brother of the musician taught himself the piano, all while working for the Earl as a broker… until one day, when he learnt that his brother the musician – the akuma – had perished at the hands of an Innocence Accommodator…"_

**- o0o -**

"_And curious, as most humans are, the distraught brother of the musician went looking for the person who according to him had freed the musician from his eternal prison, and eventually he found me…"_

**- o0o -**

"Then, having contracted a terminal disease somewhere along the way, he promptly keeled over… after having relayed the key elements of this story to me," Allen finished. "The end."

"He worked for the Earl?!" Timothy shouted in disbelief, unable to restrain himself any further.

"You sound surprised," Allen said, looking at him rather impassively. "A lot of people do."

"B-but!" Timothy protested, but before he was able to say anything more both Crowley and Miranda entered the room as though they had been summoned there by Timothy's earlier shout. The scenario did not seem all too unlikely, not in Allen's opinion at least.

"I must say…" Crowley said, staring at Allen with a sudden suspicion. "You do know a lot about the Earl and his allies…"

Allen snorted, turning away. "Unfortunately, they know more about me than I know about them."

"And what the Hell is that supposed to mean?" Crowley growled.

"Yes, what does it mean?" Miranda repeated.

Allen still did not face them, closing his eyes; by all means, he was too tired to deal with this kind of thing. Still, they obviously wanted an answer so he gave them one. "It means… what I said."

"You're not telling us something…" Crowley's voice, insisting. "There is something you're not telling us…"

"What are you hiding?" Timothy's voice, demanding. "Answer us!"

"Allen…" Miranda's voice, pleading. "Allen, please…"

Honestly, what had become of him lately?

He sighed, momentarily having resigned to what appeared to be his fate. "… I'll tell you a story."

"…We'll listen," they said, and he went on to do just that.

**- o0o -**

"_Once upon a time… there was a child without a name and without a past…"_

**- o0o -**

"_Red."_

**- o0o -**

Silver-grey eyes reopened slowly, surveying the faces in their line of vision. "Just as you are free to leave whenever and however you please, I also hold that right," he then said, keeping his voice level through it all. "I'm running out of time…"

His companions exchanged looks, seemingly unable to tell what to say or do next. Surprisingly enough, it was Miranda who took the initiative, grasping his hand in hers and lifting it. "Even so, I'll stay by your side."

Allen continued to level her with an impassive look, silently impressed; her voice lacked its usual stutter, and he supposed it was an improvement on her part, even though her words rang false in both his mind and his ears. "…You shouldn't make promises you can't keep," he finally said.

"Allen," she insisted, gripping his hand more firmly. "I have every intention of staying true to my word."

Inwardly, he snorted at this. Then, his eyes turned elsewhere, landing on the two remaining companions who had up until then been silent since the completion of his story. "And you?"

They nodded, their eyes and their motions betraying their determination and throughout stubbornness. Seeing this, Allen found that a hint of a smile had formed on his lips; they had just sworn that they would be following him to the end of the earth and the destruction which no doubt awaited there, and they did not even seem to realise it. To him, it seemed as though conceived notions of loyalty had ridded their minds of what little reason might have remained in there previous to them taking the step to follow him the first time around. He sighed tiredly, shaking his head. "…Fools."

He had little else to say about it at the time, very much aware that this wretched thing called loyalty had not only robbed them of their reason but also of their sense of self-preservation. Fools they were, those companions of his, too blinded by conceived notions of loyalty and camaraderie to notice the approach of their own seemingly imminent demise.

**- o0o -**

_The young musician turned where he stood as a dark shape in the midst of a blinding light, flashing a smile at him._

"_We're all fools… And fools we shall remain."_

**- o0o -**

Silver-grey eyes reopened, looking at the world with indifference.

_True enough._

**- o0o -**


	20. The Twentieth Testament

_..._

**- o0o -**

**The Twentieth Testament**

– **The Ninth Act –**

**The Prelude to Destruction**

**- o0o -**

"_The end draws near…" _

_He opened his eyes, coming face to face with his masked reflection._

"_Your time… is running out."_

_His reflection grew distorted before flickering momentarily, being replaced by another, by the shadow before shifting back once more into its original shape._

_Allen sighed, closing his eyes._

"_I know."_

**- o0o -**

Silver-grey eyes shot back open and he sat up suddenly from where he had previously lain, looking back at the bright moon where it hung in the night sky, surrounded from all directions by an array of stars, some shining more brightly than others. The moon was waning again, having grown full at some point during the time he had been bedridden. Those days were in the past though, just like the days of the full moon, seeing that the wound in his side had already closed up as his body had mended itself from the inside out.

It was not fully healed, per se, but still healed enough for him to leave the confining bed and roam the night as he wished; that was his own reasoning at least, and it was entirely possible that his companions did not quite agree with it, but they let him and didn't protest openly, either due to having taken the hint that he needed more space or due to their sheer relief over seeing him on the road to recovery. Still, it appeared as though not all of them had taken the hint to heart, as Allen was soon to discover when his nightly escapades attracted the attention and following company of the latest addition to his tagalongs.

Apparently, his earlier failure to refrain from humouring the brat's inquisitiveness had made the brat think that he would actually be willing to answer virtually any question of his as long as he was persistent enough, and if there was something Allen certainly did not enjoy the company of, then it was people of the utterly persistent sort; normal people were already troublesome enough in Allen's opinion. Still, however annoying the kid might have been, tagging along with him to ask all those persistent questions and express all those thoughts and worries he apparently harboured, Allen supposed the kid might have been correct after all in terms of him – Allen – being prone to give in rather than endure once Timothy wanted to know something. Besides, even if him giving in to the brats demands could have been seen as a bit demeaning in some sense, Allen decided to take it for what it was and reap whatever rewards it brought along, because, persistent or not, Timothy did appear to understand the rather obvious concept of give and take. The importance of providing bribes and other favours, that is.

**- o0o -**

"That scar… how did you get it?"

Allen looked up, directing his eyes towards his companion where they both sat out on the roof. With a sigh, he accepted the orange the brat handed him – Honestly, what was it with the brat and oranges? – and put it into his pocket to get his hands free again. Running fingers through his rather unkempt hair, he uncovered the scar all while the brat kept on watching him. "This?" he asked, even though the question was purely rhetorical; what other scars did he have which were worth asking about?

"Yeah, that one," Timothy affirmed, leaning closer to get a better look, his eyes shining with curiosity. "How did you get it?" he then asked, tilting his head slightly to the side.

While a bit taken aback by the other's sudden proximity, Allen merely snorted. "I needed a reminder…" he then said, his fingertips lingering on his forehead. "So I engraved it on my face in order to make sure I would never forget."

Silence.

"That's… seriously screwed up," Timothy finally said, but even so, Allen could tell by the tone of his voice that the childish curiosity of his companion was nowhere near sated, even if said brat did sound just a bit put off by his explanation. "Then…" the brat continued after a while, apparently unable to keep his silence for any longer. "What was it?"

"What is what?" Allen shot back, pulling the orange from his pocket and peeling it.

Timothy looked vaguely annoyed. "What was it… the thing you needed to remember so badly?"

Allen didn't look up even as he answered, giving the by then fully peeled orange in his hands a look of disinterest. "Myself."

The look the brat sent his way demanded an explanation, and once again, Allen decided to humour him. "Even without knowing the true nature of my being, I felt that I needed some sort of inerasable proof of my existence…" he said, silently wondering why it felt so easy to do so. "So I made my mark."

The brat made a face. "It must've hurt," he said.

Allen just shrugged in response. "I suppose."

"It must've hurt a lot," the brat insisted.

"Not really," he responded, consuming the last bit of fruit.

"Why not? It should've," the brat persisted.

Allen didn't look at him, turning his eyes skywards instead. "At the time…" he said. "I had other things on my mind."

"Like what?" Timothy shot back, repeating his inquiry when Allen did not answer.

Silence settled between them. It was all a game really, to see which of them would crack first.

Allen, being the one most accustomed to and the most comfortable with it, had little intention of breaking it. If the brat wanted answers from him, he had to offer up something else in return, and the bribe he had brought along had only lasted for so long. If the brat wanted him to reveal the cards he had on hand, then Timothy himself would have to do the same; it wouldn't be give and take if he didn't. Besides, it was only a question of time before the brat would crack anyway; silence was not a thing of comfort to him, and that was a fact which was very well known to Allen. It was only a question of time…

"You know…" Timothy finally said. "This Joker person…"

Allen looked up, genuinely interested this time around. Still, he retained his silence, waiting for the brat to continue.

Speaking of which, the brat did look more than just vaguely uncomfortable as he went on, squirming slightly where he sat. "I don't know if you remember that night, but…" He went silent again.

Allen directed his eyes towards him. "…He spoke to you?" he said, a hint of surprise colouring his voice.

"He did," the brat readily admitted. "He was a weird person."

Silence settled between them once more before Timothy spoke up again, his tone of voice clearly betraying his amusement. "But, from what I can tell," he said. "You're even weirder."

Allen smiled then, seeing that the brat was very much correct in his assessment. He did not comment on it though, waiting for the inevitable question that was no doubt about to be asked, one inevitable question if not several of them.

"Say…" Timothy finally said, easing up and relaxing somewhat, apparently having sensed the shift in his mood. "Why do you wear a mask anyway? Why is there a need to wear one in the first place?"

Knowing well what the brat was referring to, Allen's smile broadened some but he still did not answer, waiting for the question which was still to come.

"Who are you really, underneath it all?"

Who indeed? That was a damned good question. "Who knows?" Allen said, watching the waning moon in the sky with a look of contemplation adorning his features, mixed up with a hint of amusement hiding in his eyes. "…I can hardly say I know myself anymore."

No really, he honestly didn't.

**- o0o -**

"So… who is this Joker guy anyway?" Timothy finally asked, watching as Timcanpy – his master's golem – had settled upon Allen's head of all places, acting like it truly belonged there. "Miranda told me… Joker used to be your stage name…"

"Stage name?" Allen repeated, smirking. "Calling it a stage persona would be just a tiny bit more accurate though…"

Timothy looked at him, no longer bothering to make an attempt at hiding his curiosity. "Stage… persona?" he said, tasting the foreign word in his mouth.

"Well… I believe that's the simplest way of putting it…" Allen yielded, far too amused by the subject of discussion to make much trouble. "At least that's what he used to be. As for what he is at the moment, I really can't say for sure…"

He paused briefly, studying the brat's reaction to his statement out of the corner of his eye. "Don't get me wrong though," he then said. "I am him and he is me, but at the same time, we're not the same…"

"I don't get it," Timothy readily admitted.

Allen snorted in response, putting his hand up to shove the golden nuisance out of his hair. "That's fine," he said. "If he went through all that trouble of revealing himself to you, I might as well tell you the rest of the story… the story as I know it, at least."

The golem flapped its wings, seemingly annoyed. Then, it took flight and settled itself elsewhere, upon the hand which Allen held out with his palm turned upwards. "Once upon a time," he began, looking towards the moon where it hung in the sky. "There was a child without a past and without a name, but because of the colour of his hair, he was called Red…"

"Then Red met a mad clown by the name of Mana, and that's when Allen was born… that is to say, that was the day Red was reborn as Allen…" he continued, closing his eyes. "Then, the mad clown named Mana died, and as a reaction to it, Allen split in two… A part of Allen remained as Allen, while another part – the part containing the things Allen was suppressing, the things he refused to acknowledge as parts of himself – was reborn as Red…"

He paused briefly before continuing, smiling sardonically as he did so. "And then… a disheartened and sickly young musician entered the stage…" he said, and Timothy looked up, clearly recognising the description from the one he had given earlier. "Discovering Red, the musician attempted to get to know him, to draw him out of hiding. Red on the other hand rejected him for a very long time, distrustful of his motives. Eventually however, the musician succeeded in gaining his trust and – at least to some degree – his love and loyalty…"

"Then," Allen continued. "When the sickly young musician was dying and left the circus, Red followed him and stayed with him until the end, hearing the man's last confession before he passed away, following which Red dug a shallow grave for him in the frozen ground…"

He paused again, watching the mildly horrified expression of his companion with some degree of amusement before he went on. "That day was also the day when Red and Allen reunited – at least in a manner of speaking – and returned to being a single entity for a while… but before long, Allen assumed the guise of Joker and then managed to split himself up all over again…"

Timothy shot a somewhat confused look in his direction, but Allen simply continued with what he was saying. "In being Joker and in wearing all the masks which came with it, I – Allen – just about forgot something vital…" he said, pausing slightly as he waited for the question he obviously knew would come.

"What?" Timothy asked.

Allen smiled. "Myself."

The brat eyed him in silent confusion for a few moments. "What do you mean by that?" he then asked, sounding almost suspicious.

Allen's smile turned wry. "What do I mean by that?" he repeated, his fingers enclosing around the golem which had up until that point nestled in his palm. Having been caught by surprise, it fluttered futilely in its sudden state of captivity, but Allen paid it little heed. "What I mean is that the Allen you know is just another mask; I am not Allen himself, but rather a role which he has constructed and continues to carry out."

Brown eyes darted back and forth between the futilely struggling golem and its captor. "Then where is the real Allen?" Timothy finally asked.

Allen just shrugged mildly in response, relinquishing his grip on the golem. It bared its teeth at him, but he was noticeably unimpressed when it attempted to bite him. Within the blink of an eye, he had a firm grip on it and in the next he had already flung it into a nearby wall with dead accuracy. Timothy let out a cry of both disbelief and clear disapproval, but Allen just snorted in response, and before long the dreadful thing was already up and about, albeit a bit winded by the looks of it. If Allen was correct in his assumptions, it would no doubt bounce right back in no time at all. Golems were generally quite sturdy things after all; his occasional experiments on the ones he had randomly encountered in his youth had been proof of such.

"The thing is…" he then said, addressing the brat's earlier question. "If one wears masks for too long, it becomes nearly impossible to distinguish what's real and what isn't… or in this case, who's 'real' and who isn't. Even so, even if there was a 'real' Allen at some point in time, that person is no more. What remain of this person are just fragments, and I am such a fragment."

"Fragments?" Timothy repeated, frowning. "But how can you be sure you're not the 'real' Allen? Besides, if you and Joker are fragments of the same Allen, wouldn't everything be solved if you just went back to being the same person again?"

Allen shook his head.

"Why not?" Timothy asked. "Why wouldn't it?"

Allen sighed in response. "Simply put, it's because we're no longer compatible," he then said. "If a person's mind is like a mirror, mine is a broken one. It consists of bits and pieces which are only loosely connected or not connected at all – like Joker and I – and in between them there are pieces which have gone missing… leaving cracks through which darkness can seep through."

Timothy's frown deepened. "Darkness?" he repeated, looking at him in confusion.

Allen stood up. "Each and every person has some kind of darkness within them," he then said, looking down at him. "However…some are too busy fighting their outer enemies to notice those dwelling within…"

Timothy said nothing, waiting for him to continue. He turned. "While I may have chosen not to involve myself in any outer conflicts, I have always been involved in a struggle… for the right to continue existing as myself," he said. "But I'm running out of time…"

He closed his eyes. There was a voice again, hiding amongst the static. Similar to his own, yet different. Joker.

**- o0o -**

"_He will strive to remain uninvolved… but when time comes for Allen to choose… he will need someone to stay by his side-…"_

**- o0o -**

More static.

**- o0o -**

"…_-Will you be that someone?"_

**- o0o -**

Allen opened his eyes again, turning to face Timothy as he too stood up.

"I don't know why he asked you to stay by my side, but I can guess," Allen said, giving his companion an assessing stare. "Perhaps he saw something in you that he didn't see in the others, something special."

Timothy opened his mouth to reply. Then, he closed it again, hesitating. "He said we were alike… but also very different," he finally responded. "That I was what you could have been if things had ended differently. But, what is that supposed to…?"

Ah… so that had been it. Clever Joker, really clever.

Allen let out an amused snort. "As crude as it may sound… he probably wants you to save me."

Confusion. "Huh?"

Allen sighed again, shaking his head. Then, he looked up, a mild look of distaste adorning his features. "Yes…" he said. "But you needn't worry your little head over that crap. There is no such thing as salvation. Besides, if there ever was such a thing as salvation then I am surely far beyond any salvation or redemption or whatever, so you needn't bother."

Timothy's momentary confusion gradually melted into something else entirely and he turned on him, glaring at him in silence. It was all rather uncharacteristic of him, seeing that the brat generally got even louder when there was something he did not agree with. "Don't try to order me around, Bastard," he finally hissed, clearly angered for one reason or the other.

Allen snorted in response. "Suit yourself, Brat."

Timothy opened his mouth, likely to shower him with some sort of insults, but before even a word had made it over his lips, Allen's posture suddenly stiffened and Timothy, acting from experience, snapped his mouth back shut and studied his surroundings with renewed interest, trying to figure out exactly what had put the other on edge. He did not spot anything immediately though, and soon he directed his eyes back to Allen where he had by then turned towards him. Silver-grey eyes looked back at him, seemingly glimmering in the darkness.

"We're about to get some unwanted company," Allen said, keeping his voice low while he made a small gesture. "I'll act as a decoy, so lay low and don't follow. Once they've left, go find Miranda and Crowley. I'll catch up with you later, and once I do, we're leaving."

"And how do I know this isn't just another plot of yours to leave us behind?" Timothy hissed, unwilling to yield. "What unwanted company? I can't see anyone."

Allen merely snorted, making his way towards the edge of the roof. "That's because you don't pay attention, Brat."

**- o0o -**

At any other point in his life, Allen Walker would no doubt have acted in accordance to the rule of every man for themselves in a situation of peril. At any other point in his life, Allen Walker would have acted on his own accord and not thought much of the things he would be leaving behind. At any other point in his life, he would not have cared about the outcome of the situation as long as he himself got away in one piece. This time around however, he did care, at least enough to be willing to play the decoy; perhaps they all knew too much about him by then, ensuring that he could never leave them behind without leaving a part of himself with them, without leaving behind information which could possibly lead to his downfall. Truly, he had grown careless.

Glimmering light surrounded him, reshaping his features. The mask fell into place along with the claw, both partially hidden by the billowing white cloak which covered him, shielded him. The White Demon stepped out into the night, not to hunt but rather to be hunted; it was not a position he liked to be in, but it really couldn't be helped. He had very little time to waste after all and this plan was as good as any.

**- o0o -**


	21. The Twenty–First Testament

…

**- o0o -**

**The Twenty-First Testament**

– **The Tenth Act, Part I –**

**The Arrival of Hunters**

**- o0o -**

A sudden gust of night wind blew past him, sending a flock of crows in a nearby tree out into flight, their small black figures showing briefly beneath the moonlight before they were once again obscured by shadows, disappearing out of sight. Having already outplayed his usefulness as a beacon, Allen deactivated his Innocence and did just the same, allowing himself to be swallowed up once more by the shadows of the night as he moved silently between the rooftops before crouching down, pulling a black scarf from his pocket to temporarily cover up the whiteness of his hair. Once he had tied it securely enough, he sunk even deeper into the shadows and waited, listening intently for his pursuers, because he knew they were out there and he knew there were several of them. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and focused. In the distance, he could detect the scattered presences of his companions, affirming their positions before turning his attention elsewhere and focusing on detecting his pursuers, and after another deep breath, he began counting them.

**- o0o -**

He had always been alone in his life. Companions were temporary beings who expired, and any attachments he might have had to them usually faded just as quickly as they did. He was a one-man team, a solitary existence loyal to nothing and no one but himself, yet still he found himself crowded by all these nuisances – companions who likely viewed themselves as comrades – people who simply refused to leave him alone and followed him even when he himself sought to revel in his solitude. What had changed, he wondered; what had possibly changed and brought about the arrival of these annoying tagalongs?

He had only required a few moments' worth of contemplation before he had an answer.

It was he himself who had begun to change somewhere along the way. Perhaps his deterioration had begun early on, starting from the point when he had first broken his silent self-instated rule of non-involvement in speaking to Mana on that snowy day by the grave of Allen the Dog. He had broken his promise and gotten himself involved in matters which were really none of his business, and he had rounded it all off by following said madman on some pointless journey to search for said madman's long lost brother who had no doubt met his demise a long, long time ago; he did not have any proof to support this claim as far as he was aware, but he had always had a feeling that it was probably so, and that said brother's death had been what had driven the clown over the edge and sent him plunging into the depths of insanity. In getting involved with the man, he himself had changed as a result of it, taking on the name of Allen Walker. Perhaps he had only gotten involved with the mad clown because he wanted to understand something about humans, or perhaps something about himself as well, and while it had been a strange companionship and while the clown had been annoying at times, a part of him had still enjoyed it to some degree – enjoyed having company at least – perhaps because it made his days a bit less dull than they would have been otherwise.

But even so, as with all things good and bad, they all came to an end eventually and when Mana met his, Allen should have just shrugged it off and moved on – like a part of him did – but instead he lingered by the man's grave, wondering what to do next. He had lingered, standing still for just a bit, and then the Earl had made an appearance and given him an opportunity few of those in grief would have refused. But Allen had, seeing that he was not in any particular state of grief, and he would have rectified his mistake in getting involved as well if only things had gone his way. They rarely did however, and from that day and onward, the Earl had involved himself in his life. Something – curiosity perhaps? – had brought the man's eyes to him, and after a generous donation Allen could instinctively tell that the Earl had no intention of allowing him to remain uninvolved forever.

All his life, he had striven to survive yet to remain uninvolved at the same time, but as he had come to realise, it was not entirely easy to survive entirely on one's own, to remain completely uninvolved. Back then, he had been too young to manage it in his own opinion, and by the time he had grown old enough to make it, he was already far too involved with the world to sever all ties to it. Besides, he had never really liked restrictions, and few things would be as restricting as avoiding society as a whole; one would probably be quite stupid if one actually attempted it, considering the fact that human society did have a thing or two which even he would not fancy living without.

Even so, in his struggles to retain his relative independence from the rest of them at the circus while still remaining one of them, he had at some point gone from being an outsider to being an insider once he had stayed around for long enough and once he had proved himself skilled enough to be included as a genuine part of the troupe. Few had liked him, but the feeling was very much mutual, and people did not need to like each other to keep each other company; life at the circus and with Mana had taught him as much. Still, life at the circus had also taught him that it was not a very good idea to remain in the company of people one truly despised – like Cosimo – and that sometimes, it was far easier to make people disappear than to attempt to reconcile with them.

In his endeavour to remain uninvolved, it had been a grave mistake on his part to touch that piano and as things turned out, it had been an even graver one to get to know the owner of it. The young musician, forever nameless in his mind, had come and gone but even so his presence lingered even years after his departure as an inerasable proof of what once was.

With or without intending it, he had left an inerasable mark on the world just as it had left one on him; although he had striven to live in obscurity, both seen and unseen forces had brought him out of hiding and into the spotlight, just like he himself had stepped out on occasion to perform as another. The masks he wore had been his shields against the world, but it was he himself who had moved them aside and allowed others to catch a glimpse of what lay beneath them. It had been foolish of him, truly, but masks occasionally became heavy and suffocating to bear.

He curled up further where he sat in the shadows, keeping his senses open and alert, listening and counting.

_One. _It was faint, but he could still hear her slightly laboured breathing along with her somewhat accelerated heartbeat. Her steps were soft, but her presence was easy to detect.

_Two. _Bloodlust. The person initially kept their presence quite well hidden, but obviously failed to realise that their emotions were leaking out.

_Three. _There was an old man as well, whose presence nearly disappeared amongst the rest of them; it would have been nearly completely undetectable in case he had not specifically tuned his senses to detect it.

_Four. _A young man, radiating something akin to excitement.

_Five. _Another young man, radiating something similar.

_Six… Seven. _Two more, one of them quite powerful by the feel of it.

He did not sense any others and seeing that no one was attacking yet, he screwed his eyes back shut and focused, once again using his senses to try to detect the brat and the others. Tuned in to their presence as he was, he found them within seconds. They were at a distance, but not far away enough, and it was only a question of time before their pursuers – exorcists, what else? – would split up and pursue them separately. As a matter of fact, it puzzled him greatly that they had not done so already. Even so, he supposed it was entirely possible that this was all a part of some tactic of theirs; obviously having identified him as the leader of the mismatched little congregation, they probably sought to take him out first and pursue the others later when they were leaderless and weak. It was not an entirely stupid plan, not in Allen's mind at least, but was also flawed; they thought they would be able to take him down because he was alone and they outnumbered him by many, or perhaps they had even received intelligence saying that he had been wounded and as such decidedly a much easier prey to catch than before. Regardless of which, Allen was not amused in the least. So they thought they would be able to trap him, huh?

Well, evidently their assembled strength was much greater than his own at the moment, but theirs was divided amongst individuals while his was harnessed within. The fact that they had a general accompanying them was a bit troubling to say the least, but in the end, generals were only as troublesome as one allowed them to be.

Silver-grey eyes snapped open, sensing an incoming attack, but far before it – a glowing ball of some sort – reached him, he had already moved and transformed midair. In the next moment, he had already made it to another roof, turning slightly to catch a glimpse of his assailant before dashing off again. He could sense one of the others making their move and he acted accordingly, evading being hit by this huge hammer. The eye-patch-wearing redhead who swung it grinned at him, seemingly amused by his predicament. Allen just snorted, gracefully landing a bit further away, sensing how the others – those who were still hiding out in the shadows – closed in on him slowly but steadily, all while the general and another seemingly kept their distance. The exorcists were about to move in for the kill, and Allen, having decided that the distance between himself and his so called 'flock' had grown large enough, refocused on his Innocence. It flared up in response to his conviction and his pursuers – some of them caught by surprise by the whole display – were sufficiently distracted for him to slip between them, ensuring that he had made it out of the forming enclosure and gained a slight head start before they once again took up their pursuit of him, making use of it for everything it was worth.

His senses tingled slightly as he detected the strange threads which had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, allowing him to narrowly escape between them before they enclosed on him like a net. Truly, he almost felt like a butterfly caught up in a forest of spider webs, but he had no intention whatsoever of ending up in one of their nets. Besides, the image of him being a butterfly really did not suit him at all, not even with the cloak.

His senses tingled again, informing him that his pursuers were hot on his trail once again and he sped up all while focusing his energies within, shifting them. Before long, he could sense their approach and he dove down into one of the empty and quite narrow streets below. His feet impacted on the ground and his posture sagged a bit. He let out a quiet hiss, having been painfully reminded of the not yet fully healed wound in his abdomen. Then, he looked up, eyes widening slightly as he suddenly detected something nearby which he certainly had not caught before. He turned his head, shifting slightly in his posture, coming face to face with an akuma as it suddenly stepped out, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. "You're not leaving us behind," it said and an image of Timothy appeared within it, glaring at him.

So the brat had finally managed to properly possess something other than humans then? It was about bloody damn time.

Allen found himself sagging slightly, not fully recovered from the onslaught of pain and the earlier dash, but the Level-Two Timothy had taken control of was next to him in an instant, ready to catch him if necessary. "I wasn't planning to," Allen bit out, straightening up as he used his human hand to brush the offered assistance aside. "I just got held up on the way."

"You still haven't recovered," Timothy returned, continuing to glare at him. "I won't let you fight alone."

Allen snorted in response; the brat's concern for him had good grounds, he'd admit that much, but even so his concerns were exaggerated and rather unneeded. It was not as though he had actually intended on fighting the exorcists any more than he actually needed in order not to get caught; it was not as though he was attempting to defeat them or anything. Allen knew his own limitations, or at least he thought knew them well enough, and taking his recent injury into account he knew better than to engage in a full out battle with anyone. As was seemingly evident though, his companions did not believe him to be capable of much at all in his current condition; he should probably have found their lack of faith in his capabilities somewhat disturbing and greatly offensive seeing that he was being greatly underestimated, but instead he just shrugged inwardly and snorted in sheer disbelief before steeling himself for what was yet to come. A wry smile spread across his features as his senses alerted him to the fact that their pursuers would turn up at any second. "Then make yourself useful, Brat."

The brat – still very much visible to Allen even in his spirit form – had the gall to stick out his tongue at him. Allen just scoffed at him, turning to face the arriving opposition.

**- o0o -**

People were very much selfish beings, only really doing things for themselves or for the sake of feeling better about themselves. It was a natural thing, done consciously or unconsciously, but in hindsight, Allen could not help but wonder what had driven him to once again break his promise of remaining uninvolved, what exactly had driven him to hold out his hand to a useless woman who wished tomorrow would never come. Perhaps he had done so for his own sake, believing that the gloomy woman of little purpose would somehow teach him more about humans and maybe even about himself. She had, although Allen was not entirely keen on admitting it, and she had changed, probably more so for Allen's sake than for her own, but that was her own business.

The count had been another story, similar in some ways but differing in others. Normally, he would not have lifted as much as a finger to help a random stranger out of the blue, but somehow something had called out to him then, attracting his attention. Without really reflecting much upon it, he had given the other a split-second decision to make, unaware as to where it would eventually lead him, and before he knew it, he suddenly had tagalongs – nuisances, additional pieces of baggage and so on – who gradually began morphing into the shape of companions in his mind. Still, he was aware that they could not accompany him to the end of the world by any means; darkness called out to him but not to them, not in the same way, and the man who appeared to control it called to him all the same, beckoning for him to come along. However, he had repaid his debt – the generous sum of money the Earl had once provided – with interest, intent on severing whatever ties had formed between them since then, only to realise that he couldn't. The shadow which inhabited him was calling as well; it was not only calling out to him but it was also calling out to others. There was a strong feeling of familiarity resonating through him at times when he came into contact with the darkness – he had always thought it had seemed strangely familiar to him somehow – all while another part of him flat out rejected it, seeking to disperse and destroy it before it lashed onto him.

The Brat, Cross' unfortunate apprentice, had stumbled across them seemingly by chance and stayed for reasons his own, pestering Allen with his presence. The latter was not a necessarily bad, seeing that the brat often proved to be suitable entertainment even when he was an annoyance. No really, what had the Bastard been thinking, taking that brat on as an apprentice? No really, what had he himself been thinking, taking on that brat as his makeshift apprentice?

Time and time again, Allen wondered about the state of his own sanity. Perhaps he had, as he had long expected, gone mad somewhere along the way after all?

"_Only time will tell,"_ he thought, brandishing his claw.

**- o0o -**


	22. The Twenty–Second Testament

…

**- o0o -**

**The Twenty-Second Testament**

– **The Eleventh Act –**

**The Critical Point**

**- o0o -**

"_Are you sure this info is accurate?"_

**- o0o -**

A triumphant grin flashed by in the darkness, adorning the face of their unknown foe. They had been too focused on their goal and had temporarily forgotten to mind their surroundings; they had been too sure of themselves and of that their opponent had been alone and separated from his allies to notice that one of them had snuck up on them in the dark. Even those with keen senses had been left bewildered when they finally caught onto the fact that someone or something had arrived to aid their opponent and had managed to do so by infiltrating their own forces – without being noticed, just to add to the insult. They were trained professionals – exorcists – and yet they had all somehow failed to see it coming before it was already too late. Their opponent had led them right into a trap, enabling his hidden assistant to take them by surprise.

Possession. Whoever would have heard of such a thing?

They had gravely underestimated the people they had been up against, paying too much attention to that their opponent was still recovering from a grave injury, taking too much comfort in their by far superior numbers and force. Truly, had their opponent not been entirely focused on making a clean getaway, things would probably have ended badly for them. It was an outright disgrace to them all and a frustrating one at that, that an exorcist party of such numbers would find themselves letting a bunch of amateurs to slip through their fingers.

**- o0o -**

"_Then…"_

_Pause._

"_What about the others?"_

**- o0o -**

Their opponent had slipped through their fingers and had already fled alongside his allies by the time they would have been able to retaliate, having enlisted help from one of their own members at that, without said person's knowledge or consent; Noise Marie remembered very little of what had transpired, mentioning that he had heard a dissonant tune shortly before he had apparently been possessed.

Truly, they had been far too careless, but in return, their opponent's general recklessness had mostly made up for it; the White Demon had slipped through their net but had not done so unscathed, courtesy of the stray hits people had managed to land on him. Even so, those stray hits had by no means been enough to do much damage, but they had slowed him down a bit, only for him to be snatched up and carried off by yet another hidden ally, all while his other accomplice – the one possessing Noise Marie – had made an obscene gesture in their general direction before seemingly dispersing, leaving the exorcist's body behind.

They had attempted to pursue and had come close to catching up with them as well, until their opponents had just suddenly vanished, seemingly into thin air.

**- o0o -**

"_And that was how many days ago?"_

_Pause._

"_And there are still no clues as to their whereabouts?"_

_Pause._

"_Yes, yes, I understand."_

_Pause._

"_Yes, yes…"_

_Pause._

"_Is that so?"_

_Pause._

"_Alright, you may proceed… but keep me informed."_

_Pause._

"_And Kanda… Good luck."_

_Silence._

**- o0o -**

Silver-grey eyes stared up towards the sky, narrowing slightly for a moment before they were directed elsewhere, focusing on the path they were travelling down instead of the sky which lay above them, almost completely hidden from them by the thick canopy of leaves which lay above. He sighed slightly, pausing briefly in his stride to adjust his grip on the sleeping child on his back. The brat in question – Timothy, who else? – murmured something incoherent before once again burying his bandana-covered head into the crook of Allen's neck.

"Is he going to be alright?" Miranda asked for the umpteenth time as she caught up with them, barely avoiding stumbling on various things hidden in the thick foliage they were making their way through, her eyes alit with concern.

"He'll be fine," Allen responded as he went on, keeping his eyes ahead. "It's just a rebound…"

He could feel her eyes on him; she did not appear to be very convinced. Then again, why was there ever a need to convince and reassure her in the first place?

"There were some akuma ahead," Crowley announced once they happened upon him a bit further down the path. "But I took care of them."

For good measure, the former count used the back of his hand to wipe some remnants of akuma blood away, only to round it all off by licking it away from his hand once he had, looking strangely pleased with himself. Allen just snorted slightly in response, as if finding the display mildly repulsive.

As far as the akuma were concerned, he had already sensed them beforehand; they had been just small fry anyhow, so he had not had much reason to concern himself. Besides, his senses were far more concerned with tracking down other anomalies in their surroundings, since their escape from the exorcists had been rather haphazard and even though Allen had made sure to cover their tracks reasonably well, there was really no telling when those people managed to pick up their trail again. After all, this particular group of exorcists had at least one decent tracker among them, and that had been the very exorcist Allen had made sure to incapacitate by having Timothy possess him; it had not taken him too much time to piece together that the man in question relied on his ears rather than his eyes – because he was blind, as Timothy later informed him – and had his hearing amplified by his Innocence by the looks of it as well. The man in question had also been the one in control of all those wires, something which had proved extremely useful when handling the exorcists; after all, it was not like they would have expected to be attacked by their own allies or anything.

Even so, it was highly unlikely that they – him and the others – would be able to get away with anything similar in the future; Timothy's technique only allowed him to possess those with their guards down, and now that they had displayed it so openly, it was highly unlikely that they would be able to catch any of them by surprise in a similar situation in the future. Besides, if such a thing did occur against all expectation, the other exorcists would no doubt know what to do about it.

He sighed again. Then he looked up, sensing the eyes that were resting on him. "What is it?"

Crowley frowned lightly. "Are you sure you should be carrying him? You have only just recovered yourself…"

"Please," Allen snorted. "Don't treat me like an invalid. I have survived far worse than this."

Once again, his companions did not seem very convinced, but he did not care much for it, seeing that it was a matter of lesser importance in his mind.

The air was hot and damp and heavy to breathe; it – along with whatever perspiration they had worked up by moving – stuck to them, weighing them down quite a bit. Even the golem appeared to be affected by it, abandoning its state of flight to settle in Allen's somewhat sweaty snow-white locks instead, as though the thing itself was aware of the fact that Allen would not be able to swat it away without dropping Timothy in the process.

"We need to replenish our fresh water supplies," Allen said, continuing to walk alongside with the others. "And preferably drop the brat into a river or something; his fever seems to have risen again."

The others nodded quietly in agreement.

**- o0o -**

"_I see… Proceed accordingly."_

**- o0o -**

True to Allen's earlier prediction, it did not take long for the brat to bounce right back into awareness and to return to his most favourite pastime – that is, to pester Allen with his mere existence. The latter did not mind it all too much though, honestly relieved that he no longer had to carry such a burden on his back even though things had been reasonably peaceful during the time the brat had been sleeping.

**- o0o -**

"_Will you join me… Allen Walker?"_

**- o0o -**

He paused momentarily, looking up towards the skies again.

**- o0o -**

"_I don't want to get involved…"_

**- o0o -**

"It's a beautiful sunset, isn't it?"

The others looked up at him in surprise, first at him and then at the sun as it sank deeper into the ocean, temporarily colouring both it and the sky in partial crimson. "…Is it?"

He continued looking into the afar, at the reddening skies, a bleak smile edging itself into his features.

Red… it was such a beautiful colour.

**- o0o -**

"_One day… you'll probably understand."_

_He snorted in clear disbelief._

"_I won't."_

_A smile._

"_You will, I assure you."_

**- o0o -**

Silver-grey eyes remained at the horizon, distant.

**- o0o -**

"_I still don't believe you."_

**- o0o -**

To a certain degree, he did understand, but he still refused to believe, because even he had his limits. Regardless of all the things he had borne witness to in his life, credible and incredible things alike, this was just one of those things which he would probably never understand and probably never believe in either, regardless of the ever-growing pile of evidence which lay before him. He turned a blind eye to it, ignoring it to the best of his ability, yet he still found himself noticing how it became more and more pronounced, much like the shadow which dwelled within him.

The evidence was piling up, being reinforced over and over, yet he still refused to believe.

The fated day was approaching and it was approaching swiftly; his time was coming to an end and the shadows crept closer, getting ready to devour him.

**- o0o -**

"_I refuse."_

**- o0o -**

Humans were selfish beings and so was he, regardless of whether he adhered to normative human behaviour or did not. His life was one he had fought for. It had been given to him at some point in time, but he had been the one to preserve it; he had fought nail and tooth to remain amongst the living, even though he had not had much to live for at the time. He would live, and he would live as himself, even if it killed him to do so. He would live, and he would do so in any way he saw fit, because if he could not choose for himself then what made living worthwhile? He would rather perish prematurely than receive protection in exchange for limiting his freedom. Cages were still cages after all, regardless of their purpose. He was restrained enough as it was; anymore restraints and he would break and begin falling apart beneath them.

**- o0o -**

"_Your time… is running out."_

_He turned around, smiling._

"_I know."_

_His masked reflection shifted slightly, tilting its head to the side in question as he turned his back to it, leaning against the looking glass._

"_How long do I have?"_

_His reflection shifted again._

"_Not long."_

_He snorted._

"_How long?"_

_His reflection went quiet, leaning its head towards the glass barrier which kept them apart._

"_How long do I have, Joker?" he asked, turning to face it once more, letting his own forehead rest against the cool glass surface._

_The masked reflection in question shifted again, bringing a hand up to its face to remove the mask, doing so and lowering it slowly. Eyes, amber with slit pupils, looked back at him._

"_There is still time… just not much," his reflection responded, looking towards him. "If He wakes up – and He will, and soon – then the amount of time I can keep Him here is quite limited. If He does emerge, then there's no guarantee that either one of us will survive it…"_

_He closed his eyes, raising one of his hands to rest the palm against the barrier._

"_I know."_

_His reflection shifted once more, its hand trailing alongside the surface to settle next to where he had placed his hand, sighing._

"_Say… Is that why you seem so intent on destroying yourself before that happens?"_

_Silence._

_He opened his eyes and withdrew, watching as amber eyes admonished him._

"_You are a fool."_

_He snorted, turning away._

"_So are you."_

**- o0o -**

He looked up suddenly, pausing briefly in his stride. His companions, sensing something was amiss, also paused, their eyes alternating between looking towards him and scanning their immediate surroundings, trying to sense or see what he had sensed out there in the night.

"Akuma," Crowley muttered after a few moments, baring his teeth. "And quite a few of them."

**- o0o -**

_"The Earl will soon be expecting an answer from you, and when that time comes…"_

**- o0o -**

He summoned his Innocence and it complied almost eagerly, eager to be wielded, eager to destroy. It glowed brightly, showering him with its radiance and dispelling the shadows which had silently crept up on him.

Claws tore through the night, shredding Dark Matter in their wake, but the akuma that had perished was soon replaced by another and then by yet another.

They were surrounded.

**- o0o -**

_The madman's chuckle filled his ears, but he kept his back turned to him._

_"The offer can wait for another time… perhaps until we meet again under more favourable circumstances…"_

**- o0o -**

He struck again, landing a decisive hit before withdrawing to battle another opponent.

**- o0o -**

"_I refuse."_

**- o0o -**

His Innocence sang in response to his silent refusal, lending itself to him fully. The sound resonated within him and a part of him answered to it, allowing it to take hold and to connect more deeply. The shadow within him withdrew slowly, shying away from the light as it shone with such brilliance. It was so bright that it hurt his eyes with its radiance, blinding yet illuminating all at once, bringing about a fragment of absolute clarity – of revelation – before it once again faded a bit.

Something had broken within him, tearing down walls he had spent ages building and reinforcing. It hurt, it hurt to such a degree that he had tears streaming down his face, obscured by the mask and unseen in the heat of battle. It felt like he was burning inside, like there was fire coursing through his veins, but soon enough the pain receded, lowering itself to more tolerable levels.

**- o0o -**

"_Whether it will become a blessing or a curse, you were born with a choice…"_

**- o0o -**

"_You and you alone can choose what to make of it."_

**- o0o -**

"_You, and you alone."_

**- o0o -**

There was a sword in his hand – his Innocence, having taken on yet another form even as the cloak surrounded him – and it was stained in blackness courtesy of all that he had slain. He was breathing heavily, using the sword to support him while he threw a glance at the battlefield and at the decimated number of opponents that were either keeping their distance or engaged in battle with one of his companions. The latter were holding up surprisingly well against the opposition, and occurred to him that this was the first time the lot of them had been involved in an actual battle – together, at least. Even so, the thought did not remain with him long as he soon shrugged it off and exhaled slowly, adjusting the mask with his hand before readying himself to take care of the akuma that remained. Still, there was something there, tugging at his senses.

**- o0o -**

"_I don't want to get involved…"_

**- o0o -**

He dodged just in time to avoid an attack from behind, somersaulting and cleaving the attacking akuma in two. As it crumbled before him, he once again paused in his movements and turned his head to the side, directing his attention towards the outskirts of the battlefield. After a few moments, his eyes narrowed and he wordlessly commanded his Innocence to revert back to its usual form. He sunk into position, awaiting the assault he knew would come. There was a stab of pain in his abdomen, but he gritted his teeth and steeled himself against it, forcing himself to retain focus.

**- o0o -**

"_How much time do I have left?"_

_His reflection shifted, the image distorting momentarily before stabilising into a familiar one._

"_To destroy yourself?"_

_He shrugged lightly in response._

"_I walk my own path… and I shape my own fate…"_

_Amber eyes continued watching him, narrowing slightly._

"… _If not, then I'd rather die."_

_His reflection snorted._

"_That's rather selfish of you, isn't it?"_

_He looked up._

"_How so?"_

_His reflection shifted once more, leaning against the barrier which separated them._

"_You have already gone past the critical point, and as such the decision is no longer only yours to make…"_

_Serious amber eyes stared back at him from beyond._

"_Because… You're already involved, Allen."_

**- o0o -**


	23. The Twenty–Third Testament

_Introducing chapter twenty-three, in which Allen suffers a temporary leave of sanity._

**- o0o -**

**The Twenty-Third Testament**

– **The Twelfth Act –**

**The Day of Reckoning**

**- o0o -**

_"Is he dead?" he asked._

_"He's dead," the clown confirmed, looking down at the dead dog down in the pit._

_"He's covered in bruises," Red said, crouching down next to it to have a closer look._

_Fingers brushed against his bruised cheek and he startled, eyes growing wide, nearly losing his balance altogether when fingertips – cold, so cold, yet so strangely warm – caressed the colourful bruise which decorated his face, courtesy of that other bastard clown – the violent one._

_Eyes – inscrutable, yet strangely vivid all at once – levelled him with a stare, looking at him calmly even when he slapped the hand away and pulled back, putting some distance between himself and the madman._

"_So are you," the mad clown said, directing his attention back towards the makeshift grave, covering it up with dirt before placing a small star-patterned ball on top of it._

_Red frowned slightly._

_"He was an old dog," the clown continued, straightening up and making his way up to him before crouching down once more. "He wouldn't have lived for much longer anyway, so it's alright."_

_Silver-grey eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You're not Mana," he then said, taking a step backwards to sink into position, ready to attack or to defend himself at a moment's notice._

_The clown chuckled in response, gradually morphing into the shape of the Millennium Earl, grinning down at him._

_Silver-grey eyes narrowed even further. "Quit fooling around," he said, and in an instance his trusted throwing knives were in his hands, poised and ready to be thrown at a flick of the wrist._

_Laughter._

_The scenery around them gradually morphed into another; only Red remained the way he was, a red-haired child dressed in worn-out clothes. Their newest location was even more familiar to him than the previous one; it was the lakeside cemetery and the selfsame crescent hanging above it, reflected in reverse down in the redness of the lake. The fake Earl gradually dissolved before him, and out of it stepped Road Camelot._

"_What tipped you off… Allen?" she asked, stifling a giggle when he bristled._

"_Don't call me that," he shot back, eyes narrowed._

_Her smile broadened noticeably, turning vaguely sinister for a moment before smoothening out some, softening._

"_So… how did you figure it out, Red?" she said, tilting her head slightly to the side to emphasise her question._

_Red snorted in response before once again levelling her with a glare. "What do you want?"_

_Road huffed slightly at his tone of voice, as though keeping up the pretence of her having been offended by his obvious distrust. She did not do so for long however, as her curious amber-coloured eyes soon cracked back open and looked around curiously before once again settling on Red, who was still in a position from which he was ready to attack at any time._

"_You know what I want," she finally said before once again looking around her, craning her neck. "Where's Allen?"_

"_You know where he is," Red spat back at her, finally lowering the knives and relaxing his posture slightly, stepping away from her and closer to the lake. "He's out there, fighting."_

_The Noah of Dreams let out a thoughtful hum before moving to stand next to him, crouching down next to the edge of the lake, eyeing the seemingly brittle layer of semi-transparent ice which covered the surface of it, thicker in some places and thinner in others. The shadow moved about beneath it, seemingly restless._

_She leaned closer to it, as though harbouring a wish to reach out and touch it, but Red gripped her arm and held her back before letting go as though the touch had burnt him. She looked up at him for a second, seemingly dismayed for a moment before once again directing her eyes down below, studying the shadow with keen interest._

"_So the Earl's hunch was right after all…" she said, her demeanour softening a bit. "About Him having been reborn…"_

_Red said nothing, eyeing her in something akin to distaste. It only grew stronger when she straightened up and looked towards him once more, eyeing him in that disgusting way again._

_Predatory amber eyes levelled on him, and the Noah of Dreams made no effort to hide her seeming amusement. "He'll awaken any day now… and when he does, it'll be bye-bye for you, Red."_

_He scoffed, brushing past her and stepping onto the thin layer of ice. It held, surprisingly enough, and even seemed to thicken as Red stood on it, looking back at his foe through the corner of his eye. He smiled. "Your dear Allen would rather kill himself than have his body end up as anyone else's puppet," he responded, his amusement growing at the sight of the look of disdain which briefly swept across her face. "My own stand in all of this is far more practical than his, but even so, I will not allow myself to be devoured…" he paused briefly, eyes narrowing further, turning to confirm the smirk he had suspected would be adorning her childish features. "Now scram."_

_Amber eyes – filled with mirth – eyed him, but he paid her no heed, turning away once more. Giggles resonated briefly before echoing out into silence, and once Red had confirmed her departure he let out a sigh of utter relief and collapsed onto the ice where he had previously been standing, reverting back into his white-haired teenage self. The ice creaked beneath him and the shadow moved closer, resting its palm onto the thin cold surface which separated them. Red, lying on his side, shuddered slightly. Then, he moved his left hand and placed it above that of the Fourteenth, closing his eyes._

**- o0o -**

He took a deep breath, steeling himself against the pain as it welled up in his side and gradually spread to other parts of his body. It was like having fire coursing through his veins; liquid fire. It was agonising.

**- o0o -**

"_I'm sorry…"_

**- o0o -**

"_I can't contain him for much longer…"_

**- o0o -**

Multiple images flashed before his eyes, displaying memories not own.

A voice, halfway distorted and nearly indistinguishable from all the static, continued to echo within him.

**- o0o -**

"_The choice is yours."_

**- o0o -**

Suddenly, it was as though the world had slowed down around him. The akuma he had been fighting earlier nearly instantly distanced themselves, obviously sensing that something was amiss. He was breaking again, crumbling completely this time around as darkness came back in full force and swallowed the light, nearly extinguishing it completely before it flared up once more, ready to retaliate. There were two forces within him – light and darkness – battling for control. The shadow within him on one side and the Innocence on the other; he was caught up between them, unable to escape. No, he refused to see himself as helpless, because he was not; he simply refused to be.

Taking a deep shuddering breath, he brought his hand – his right one – up to his chest, closing his eyes. He knew what he had to do. Steeling himself, he forcibly deactivated his Innocence; it retreated grudgingly, unwillingly, but he forced it back into its usual shape.

Darkness, no longer held in check by the light, welled up around him, thickening and strengthening its hold.

Allen let out a breath, keeping his eyes closed, focusing his remaining energy within. _Red… I promised, didn't I?_

A sardonic grin spread across his features as he fished out one of his knives, placing it against his own throat. _That I would rather die if I could not walk my own path… and shape my own fate…_

**- o0o -**

"_You damn fool."_

**- o0o -**

He applied pressure to it, feeling a slight sting when it first broke the skin, but the sensation soon faded out and was replaced by numbness. His smile broadened, even as voices raised in terror reached his ears, and he cut deeper.

**- o0o -**

"_You selfish bastard."_

**- o0o -**

He was warm, yet strangely cold all at once as his life gradually left him, seeping out through his wounds.

Voices. They were calling for him.

**- o0o -**

"_No! Allen! No!"_

**- o0o -**

He was slipping and he knew it. Darkness reached up to swallow him, to devour him, yet somehow he was far too tired to care.

**- o0o -**

"_Allen? Allen?!"_

**- o0o -**

Timothy – the Brat – was screaming something, wailing. He was crying. How annoying.

**- o0o -**

"_No… No, no, no, no, no… you can't do this; you can't die on us like this… no… Allen…"_

**- o0o -**

Darkness welled up within him again, and he could feel the barrier shattering once more and doing so completely this time around, allowing the darkness to flow freely.

**- o0o -**

"…_Allen?"_

**- o0o -**

The Brat went quiet as he opened his eyes slowly, watching as the world slowly drifted back into focus. The Brat was staring at him, eyes wide in fear and disbelief.

**- o0o -**

"_Allen… you're…? Don't tell me… that the darkness you spoke of…"_

**- o0o -**

The Brat clung to him as he attempted to rise once more, but he brushed him aside even as he protested. "No!"

He – Red – paused briefly in his movements, spending a moment or two studying his right hand as it gradually turned greyish. It should have shocked him, he supposed, but it did not. Instead, he closed his eyes once more and shifted his energies, and once he opened them again his Innocence was once more hovering above him.

He – Allen – had made his choice. Now someone else needed to pick up the pieces.

No really, the irony of it all. Red almost felt like laughing. He almost did too, or tried to, only to find that he could not. He brought his hands up to his throat, taking in the wound there. Ah, it was no wonder then. Then again, it was not much of a problem either as it would seem; the damage Allen had managed to do to himself was already being remedied by his newly awakened Noah.

Another surge of pain tore through him as more darkness welled up from within as the Fourteenth struggled for control. He roughly pushed the brat away and snarled at his – Allen's – other companions when they came running, telling them mentally to back off and to stay the Hell away from him. They did not seem to catch the hint however – not that it surprised him or anything, seeing that they had rarely listened to Allen either, being the fools that they were – and once again sought to approach him. He forced himself to calm down, even though he was already reaching the limit of his patience. "Stay away from me," he mouthed the words clearly, unable to tell whether or not he had actually uttered them out loud, hoping they would understand and heed to his request but sincerely doubting they would. "Don't come any closer. He is trying to take control, and he might try to kill all of you if he does, so stay away."

They looked towards him, their faces displaying a mixture of shock, terror and utter disbelief. The Brat stared at him for a long time, displaying a similar range of emotions until suddenly a glimpse of recognition flared to life in his eyes and he stuttered, taking a step forward. "Joker?"

His barely noticeable nod provoked another step. He held up his hand to discourage the other from advancing any further.

"Allen… Where is Allen?!" Timothy cried, seeking to advance yet another step in his direction.

Red closed his eyes, slumping somewhat in his posture; he was tired, he was far too tired to be dealing with this. Then, another surge ran through him and he doubled over in pain. It was too much; the Memories were overloading him. He gritted his teeth, his other sensory abilities slowly reminding him of their presence, informing him that the remnants of the horde of akuma were advancing on them. _Worry… more about yourselves… idiots…_

**- o0o -**

"_It's a Noah…"_

"_Lord Noah…"_

"_Why is he amongst these exorcists?"_

"_We must protect him… we must kill them…"_

"_We must bring him to the Earl."_

**- o0o -**

His breathing, which was already strained, hitched. A deep-seated terror flooded his pained senses, along with a strange feeling of longing. _No._

He forced himself to get back up, forced himself to get back to his feet. _No._

He had promised to keep on walking. _No._

Well, technically speaking Allen had promised, but Red had been in on it too. _No._

He could not stop now, because if he did then everything would end. _I refuse._

The Innocence readily answered his command now that he was the one in control, complying with him eagerly. Razor-sharp claws adorned his hand and he used them to tear apart the opposition, to shred the blackness which had been about to surround and overwhelm him. He considered trying to summon the sword but decided against it, well aware of the fact that his condition was deteriorating rapidly; if he exhausted his use of the Innocence that was the same as leaving himself completely open to the influence of the Memories, and that was something he would rather not expose himself to if he could avoid it. However, as things turned out, it seemed as though he probably did not have much choice in the matter after all.

Everything was blurred, distorted, yet somehow, he could see everything which such clarity. He was not himself anymore, but rather existed as a spectator; he was not in control anymore and he kept on watching his body as it kept on moving, relying entirely on instincts and ingrained reflexes. He was doing well too, surprisingly enough. However, it was not enough.

With all due honesty, he had virtually no idea as to how he ended up with a sword in his gut. Supposedly, he had reacted purely on instinct, but not one of survival. Before he knew it, he was already falling.

Voices. They cried for him, wailed for him. He wanted to smile for some reason, but he was too tired, far too tired. He was on the ground, on his back. There was no sword in his gut, but in its wake was a wound – close to his earlier one – and it bled profusely, showing no signs of stopping.

Voices.

**- o0o -**

"_Allen?!"_

"_He's lost a lot of blood. We have to-…"_

"_Miranda!"_

**- o0o -**

The woman – the useless woman Allen had picked up on a whim – steeled herself and activated her Innocence, attempting to reverse what could not be reversed.

**- o0o -**

"_Is it working?"_

"_I don't know! I don't-… Allen!"_

**- o0o -**

Desperation. Despair. Death.

It was futile.

His hand shot out, grabbing hers and pushing it aside. "…Stop."

Her eyes shone with unshed tears, threatening to overflow at any moment.

Timothy, sniffling.

Crowley, desperately clinging to hope even though he saw it dwindling rapidly.

**- o0o -**

"_Why?! Why do you want me to do such a thing?!"_

**- o0o -**

She was angry, and she had every right to be, but he could not explain; there was no time to explain.

**- o0o -**

"_Out of the way!"_

**- o0o -**

The world shifted again and his comrades – Allen's comrades – were torn from his line of vision, pushed aside by black-clad reapers. Red honestly could not bring himself to care.

_Ah_, he thought to himself, taking in a shuddering breath all while his life kept on pouring out of him. _Time's up._

**- o0o -**

"_Yu! Put a stop to the bleeding! Hurry up!"_

"_Shut up!"_

**- o0o -**

He let go of it.

**- o0o -**

"_Is it dead?"_

_Red gave the person who had spoken a brief glance before looking down again at the robin where it lay on the ground. _

"_It sure looks like it," he said, poking it slightly and thereby confirming something which he had suspected already; it was already frozen stiff._

**- o0o -**

"_Do you wish to bury it?"_

_He frowned. _

"_Why ever would I do such a meaningless thing?"_

**- o0o -**

_His companion, persistent as ever in his random inquiries, merely shrugged before pulling the coat more tightly around himself, sighing; his breath was like a white cloud in the cold air. "Say…"_

**- o0o -**

"_Say, Red… Do you not fear death?"_

**- o0o -**

_A snort._

"_Why would I fear something so ridiculous?"_

**- o0o -**

_A smile._

"_I'm right then, am I not?"_

**- o0o -**

"_You do not fear death; it fascinates you, doesn't it?"_

**- o0o -**

_Silver-grey eyes turned back to the bird where it lay motionless on the ground. _

"_So?"_

_His companion's smile broadened noticeably, hinting at an experienced feeling of amusement._

"_That's good."_

**- o0o -**


	24. The Twenty–Fourth Testament

…

**- o0o -**

**The Twenty-Fourth Testament**

– **The Thirteenth Act, Part I –**

**The Red-Breasted Robin**

**- o0o -**

"_Is it dead?"_

**- o0o -**

"_It sure looks like it."_

_He withdrew slightly, discarding the stick onto the ground._

_Silver-grey eyes rested upon the frozen bird which lay at his feet._

_He did not care._

_He honestly did not._

_Or did he?_

"_Do you wish to bury it?"_

_He frowned. _

"_Why ever would I do such a meaningless thing?"_

_His breath was like a white cloud in the cold air._

_His companion shifted slightly, pulling the coat more tightly around himself, sighing._

"_Say…"_

_He looked up._

"_Say, Red… Do you not fear death?"_

_He looked down, eyes resting on the bird which still lay on the ground before him._

_He snorted, rising to his feet._

"_Why would I fear something so ridiculous?"_

_A smile._

"_You do not fear death; it fascinates you, doesn't it?"_

_A mild shrug._

"_So?"_

"_That's good," his companion continued and he responded with another shrug._

_He did not care after all, he really did not…_

_Or did he?_

"_Humans generally fear the unknown," his companion went on. "…Even though it is pointless to fear the inevitable."_

"_You're dying," Red finally stated, his voice level and devoid of emotion, mirroring his face._

"_That's right," his companion replied, sounding vaguely amused._

_Red continued looking at him in silence._

"_My time is coming to an end," the musician eventually said, looking up towards the overcast skies, his eyes clear and devoid of fear even though there was a shadow of death lingering beneath them._

_Red turned his attention back to the red-breasted robin where it lay on the ground, dead and soon to be forgotten. _

_A strange feeling overcame him and he crouched down next to the bird once more, lifting it gently off the ground._

_He closed his eyes and the world which surrounded him seemingly slowed down until it almost came to a complete stop as the mild breeze died down as though nature itself was holding its breath, eagerly awaiting what would come next._

_There was something there, a dark mass within him, moving about, trying to reach the surface. _

_Unwittingly, he found himself allowing shadowy tendrils to break through and wrap themselves around him, surrounding him in comfortable darkness as he temporarily relinquished control over his body, moving aside to let the shadow have its way. _

**- o0o -**

"_It is pointless to fear the unknown and to try to flee the inevitable…"_

**- o0o -**

"_**It is, truly."**_

**- o0o -**

"…_But rushing towards it would be even more pointless, wouldn't it?"_

**- o0o -**

"_**Yes."**_

**- o0o -**

_He opened his eyes to a struggling ball of feathers trapped in his grasp._

_His fingers slacked, allowing the robin to free itself and take flight._

_It flapped its wings, seemingly bothered by the stiffness of them, but it still managed to stay airborne._

_He kept his eyes on it until it had flown out of sight._

_Once it had, he closed his eyes once more._

**- o0o -**

"…_You do not fear death; it fascinates you, doesn't it?"_

_He looked back at the bird where it lay on the ground – still dead, not alive as he had imagined it a moment or so previously. There was no shadow, no darkness dwelling within, just him… and Allen._

"…_It does."_

_The red-breasted robin lay where it did – unmoving – its reddish feathers vaguely reminiscent of dried-up blood, marking a wound which had never been._

_It was dead and that was all it would ever be, dead and irreversibly so, because it would be foolish to believe otherwise. _

**- o0o -**

"_**Why?"**_

**- o0o -**

_Fingertips brushed against cold feathers._

**- o0o -**

"_Why indeed?"_

**- o0o -**

Amber-coloured eyes snapped open, giving their surroundings a bleary look before drifting closed once more. His head fell limply to the side, all while his stiff neck screamed in protest when it was jarred. Bit by bit, he took in his surrounding, perceiving it through his other senses and gradually piecing together an image of the situation and of the position he had apparently ended up in.

Cold iron held his wrists together above his head and he tilted his head back and briefly cracked an eye open to confirm the existence of a seal-reinforced manacle which also shackled him to the reinforced stonewall his back was leaning against.

Closing his eyes once more, he raked his mind for information on recent injuries and matched them up to ones he could pick up with his senses. It was not a particularly easy process, seeing to the fact that there was really no telling as to what kind of drugs he could possibly be pumped up on, seeing that he could barely sense any of his injuries anymore. The slight itching of bandages would serve to indicate that he had been treated, which was a reasonable conclusion since he could vaguely recall having been on the verge of bleeding out last time he had been conscious, making treatment a very reasonable conclusion since he had not ended up dying from blood loss.

Even so, carelessness – some of it on his part, but mostly on Allen's – had landed him in a state of captivity, chained to a wall of all things. The irony of it all, he could almost taste it.

Shifting slightly where he sat – as much as the restraints would allow – Red leant his head back against the wall in silent contemplation. He could barely sense the Fourteenth's presence, which was a strong indication that the seals they – the Order – had used on him were somehow able to inhibit the other's powers. Then again, he had never been very knowledgeable about magic, seeing to the fact that he had made a point of avoiding contact with magicians as much as was to be considered humanly and inhumanly possible, but even so that did not mean that he was completely in the dark about how things worked. He cracked an eye open again, his eyes studying the seals above his head with a dull interest for a few seconds before he closed his eyes once more, took in a slow steady breath and collected himself before tuning out.

**- o0o -**

"_This isn't… right."_

**- o0o -**

"This isn't… right." Brown eyes narrowed, darkening in suppressed anger and frustration intermingling with sadness. "It just isn't right… to keep him locked up in there."

He shifted slightly where he sat, turning slightly to level an accusatory glare in direction of one of his black-clad keepers. One of said keepers, a redhead with an eye patch, let out a sigh while the others shifted. "He is a Noah, and that makes him a danger to us…"

…And to himself, but that last part was omitted.

Timothy Hearst's eyes narrowed even further, unconvinced. "Let me go in there and talk to him," he demanded after a few moments of silence, startling those around him.

Only the raven-haired swordsman lacked a visible reaction. "No."

"Timothy," Miranda spoke up in some sort of disapproval, casting a wary glance at their surroundings, even though she herself wanted to get Allen out of there just as much as he did, if not more, while Crowley cast a look conveying a similar message, retaining his silence.

He knew what they were both getting at; he knew they wanted him to keep his head down, but he couldn't and he wouldn't, because this was not right. "He saved my life and he knows a lot of stuff, so I need to talk to him."

It was not a great excuse, but any excuse was good if it allowed him the opportunity to see him again. It was not a lie, technically speaking, and he really needed to find out whether or not he was alright; whether Allen was still in there or not. "He knows where Cross is… and what the Earl is planning… and…"

…And it just wasn't right to keep him in there, all alone. It just wasn't right to keep him anywhere.

A snort brought him out of his reverie, and he looked up at the raven-haired swordsman – Kanda or something – and his eyes narrowed even further. "So?" the exorcist said, growling. "We'll interrogate him."

"He won't talk to any of you!" Timothy shot back, getting to his feet and stomping up to the stuck-up bastard to glare at him while silently cursing the fact that he was so bloody short in comparison. "Just give me fifteen minutes with him and I'll get you everything you'll ever want to-…"

"Tch," the swordsman snorted once more, eyeing him in clear loathing. "Listen, kid… You're about this far from being branded a traitor yourself."

"No, you listen, you sword-waving freak!" Timothy returned, actually having the audacity to jam his index finger repeatedly into the other's chest. "I was never an official member to begin with, so I really can't say that I've been betraying anyone!"

The swordsman – or was he a samurai or something? – swatted his hand away, clearly irritated. Dark eyes bore down upon him, narrowing. "For accommodators of Innocence, membership is mandatory."

"The Hell it is!" Timothy shouted back. "This is a fucked-up organisation to begin with! Even a bastard like Cross stays away from it because he knows that!"

In order to emphasise his statement, and in order to vent some of the frustration that had steadily been building up within him during these last couple of days, he then proceeded to try and deliver a punch into said bastard's abdomen, only to have his hands seized and be roughly thrown aside.

"Timothy!"

"Brat!"

His companions – no, his _family_ – were at his side at once, alternating between fussing over him and directing disapproving looks towards the person who had knocked him down to the floor.

Timothy himself returned the glare which was sent his way, his brown eyes darkening with anger.

Eventually, the raven-haired samurai broke off their impromptu staring contest, dismissing him with a snort, turning away from him.

The redhead strode forth in his place, bending down and extending a helping hand towards him, grinning somewhat apologetically. "Aw, come on… fucked up or not, it has its moments."

Timothy swatted the hand away, getting back to his feet by his own power even as the others reached down to help him. "I don't want to share any of those moments with any of you," he hissed.

"No one gives a flying fuck about what you want, kid," the samurai snorted.

"Let me talk to Allen," Timothy persisted.

"No," the samurai returned.

"You would have cleaved me in two if Allen hadn't stopped you," Timothy shot back, eyes narrowing once more. "You murderer."

"Uh… Kid?" the redhead – Lavi or whatever his name was – tried once more to calm him, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder or something, but failing to do so as Timothy kept stepping aside and backing away. "You really shouldn't-…"

"Fools. Murderers. Hypocrites," he said, backing up until his back hit the wall behind him. "You lot make me sick."

They shifted once more, clearly uncomfortable. The redhead's smile was still plastered on his face, although it looked rather forced. "For your information, kid… that guy is at least two times worse than us."

"Well, at least he's honest about it!" Well, at least he wasn't a self-righteous hypocrite like the rest of them.

"Let me talk to him," Timothy insisted, his inherent stubbornness preventing him from giving up the fight.

"No."

"Come on, Yu," the redhead finally said, turning to the grumpy swordsman. "Be lenient for once."

"It's not my decision," the other shot back, levelling the redhead with a glare. "The cell is off-limits."

"Okay," the redhead yielded, backing off slightly, holding up his hands. "So then I'll talk to Branch Leader Bak and see what he has to say about it."

"Are you fucking crazy?" the samurai snorted. "There's a Noah in there."

"But the kid's got a point, hasn't he?" the redhead insisted, scratching his head. "Noah or not, Allen Walker saved his life… nearly at the cost of his own. That should account for something. If anything, his reason for doing so should be of interest to us. Right?"

**- o0o -**

"_Right?"_

**- o0o -**

Red snorted in clear disbelief.

**- o0o -**


	25. The Twenty–Fifth Testament

…

**- o0o -**

**The Twenty-Fifth Testament**

– **The Thirteenth Act, Part II –**

**The Issue of Trust**

**- o0o -**

"_Do you trust me?"_

**- o0o -**

Little time had passed since the Order had caught up to them, but even so, Miranda felt as though it had been an eternity since the last time she had been outside, since the last time she had seen the sky and since the last time she had seen Allen. Truthfully, it was probably the latter that she missed the most, since they had not been allowed to see him at all and because she was worried sick for him. From what she could gather from Crowley and Timothy, they had similar sentiments about the matter, the latter even going as far as to be vocal about it. It was stupid of him, considering the fact that they were outnumbered outsiders in there and it was also stupid of him if one considered the fact that these people probably held Allen's life in their hands. It was a deeply pessimistic viewpoint but a realistic one no less, and Miranda was well aware of the fact that she needed to find it in herself not to lapse back into a state of depression. She needed to stay strong, not only for herself but also for the others. She needed to stay strong.

**- o0o -**

"_Do you trust me?"_

**- o0o -**

Allen's voice, as clear as though he would have been speaking to her directly, rung inside her head and she took silent comfort in it, hoping dearly that she would be able to reunite with its owner soon. It was a feeble hope, she realised as much, but it was the only thing she could really cling to.

**- o0o -**

"_Do you trust me?"_

**- o0o -**

She looked up, temporarily brought out of her reverie by a voice – a bit familiar yet not – and she looked up, coming face to face with the blond-haired Asian man who had been fiddling around with her pocket watch. "I must say, this is an impressive thing," the man said, shooting off a friendly smile in her direction. "You have not been in contact with the Order before this, yes?"

"…N-no."

The blond shifted his attention back to the pocket watch – her Innocence weapon, although she herself hesitated to refer to it as such – once more, studying it with a great deal of interest. "It is beautiful, I must say. Who made it for you?"

She bit her lip; she did not want to answer. Seemingly realising that, the man – Bak Chan or something or other – shrugged mildly and opted for another approach. "Right… Even so, how was it made?"

She stubbornly retained her silence, shifting somewhat guiltily as she did so, all while the man – he was some sort of leader in this place, a person of authority – continued to look at her with eyes which seemed strangely patient compared to others she had found herself scrutinised by as of late. The man in front of her – the leader of the Asian Branch – was not judging her by any means; the gaze that rested upon her was not judgemental or pitying, just curious. Even so, the eyes compelled her to speak and she did so with a heavy heart, closing her eyes, unwilling to bear witness to her own betrayal.

**- o0o -**

_Silver-grey eyes looked up at her from the other side of the campfire they had set up to ward off the darkness of the night._

"_In order to control it better, you need to be more closely – more deeply – connected to it," the white-haired teen explained, tilting his head to the side. "Innocence is affected by your will and your emotions, and in order to achieve a higher level of synchronisation, a better medium is needed…"_

_The raw Innocence in her hands; she clutched it tighter._

"_A better medium?"_

_Allen said nothing, pulling out one of his trusted throwing knives, shifting it in his hand so that its tip was pressed against one of his fingertips. She held back a gasp when he applied a bit more force to it, letting up on it only after the blade had pierced the skin. Thick crimson liquid slowly welled up, glistening eerily in the flickering light from the flames._

"_There are different types of Innocence," the teen then continued, putting the knife away. He rubbed the blood between two of his fingertips, his face as impassive as ever. "They differ in means of the medium used for synchronisation, but in the end they are essentially the same from what I can gather…"_

_He paused briefly before holding up his partially blood-smeared palm for her to see. "Blood," he offered simply. "Innocence… whatever it is… needs to connect with its accommodator. My Innocence is right here, within me…"_

_He retracted his hand, picking up the pocket watch she had picked out earlier with his unsullied left hand. "Give me your hand," he said._

"_But I…"_

_She was frightened, for reasons she did not know. Maybe it was the thought of blood; she had never liked the sight of it._

_Allen let out a soft scoff, clicking the pocket watch open and exposing the clockwork before placing it back onto the ground, holding his hand out to her once more._

"_In order to connect one thing to another, something must be used in order to create that bond…" he said patiently. "Your blood."_

_He did not need to be patient; she had been the one who had asked him to do it in the first place after all. "But I…"_

_She averted her eyes, ashamed of her own weakness._

"_Do you trust me?" Allen finally asked, his voice soft as he withdrew the offered hand._

"_I…"_

"_Do you trust me?" he repeated, a bit more sharply this time around._

_Nearly immediately, her head snapped up in attention. "Yes! Yes, I do trust you, but…"_

"_But?"_

_Silver-grey eyes continued levelling her with their impassive stare._

"_A-are you sure this will work?" she finally stammered, shuffling closer to him._

_He tilted his head to the side in response. "No."_

"_Still…" he continued after a while. "Do you trust my judgement?"_

_The words hit her like a slap in the face, although she was able to tell that they had not been meant to injure. It was not the words but rather her own foolishness which proved so hurtful._

"…_Yes, I do."_

_The hand was held out towards her once more. _

"_Then give me your hand."_

**- o0o -**

"…Fascinating," Bak Chan commented.

She nearly cringed in response.

Allen's voice was back, resonating within her.

**- o0o -**

"_Do you trust me?"_

**- o0o -**

_I do… I do, but…_

_But…_

**- o0o -**

With a sharp inhalation, amber-coloured eyes snapped wide open to a room shrouded in darkness. He was awake yet again, but the dream still lingered, tainting his perception. There were shadows playing on the walls, chasing each other restlessly around the cell, both attracted to and repelled by the pale light which surrounded part of his being. For a brief moment, images of the lingering nightmare flashed up before his inner eye once more and he actually cringed, pulling uselessly at his restraints. He felt oddly claustrophobic then, like the walls were rapidly closing in on him, ready to crush and ready to suffocate, all while the shadows too approached, ready to devour.

Even so, his reasonable self refused to be undermined by a growing sense of panic and he forced the unwanted emotions back down below, knowing that he needed to calm down, that he needed to be rational and actually think rather than give in to them. His emotions refused to be suppressed though, flaring up once more all while he continued holding them down. He needed an escape, some sort of relief, and he closed his eyes, looking for answers within. He took a deep breath and then another, recalling the keys he used to play, the keys of black and white. He imagined himself pressing them down, imagined himself seated at that old piano from his memories, imagined himself playing. It calmed him down, strangely enough, but the power of imagination still was not enough.

Words began spilling over his lips before he could stop them; they were foreign and unknown to him, but even so they rolled off his tongue like he had always known them. They strung together, forming chains, sentences, verses. They were a song – familiar yet all familiar – one which had always echoed within him. It had always had a foreign feel about it, but it had always felt familiar to him as well. It was a lullaby, he eventually realised, his mind blissfully empty as he focused almost solely on reciting the words as they came to him.

The pale light surrounding part of him grew in its intensity, giving off more light and solidifying the shadows in the corners. They remained that way even after the song had died on his lips and echoed out into silence as he tiredly shifted, leaning his head back against the wall behind him. "Say… Allen," he finally said, directing his gaze upwards but directing himself within. "Do you remember?"

Silence met him, but he had really not expected much else. Instinctively, he knew Allen could hear him, just as well as he knew that the people monitoring him would hear him too. "Once, I was the actor and you were the part I played…" he wistfully continued, closing his eyes. "Then you took on the role of an actor and I became the role you sought to play out… Ironic, isn't it?"

He found himself standing inside his inner mindscape once more, facing the newly reconstructed barrier. His counterpart was seated on the other side, leaning heavily against it. He looked pale, bruised, tired, and a bit dead in general, but his eyes told another story. Silver-grey met amber, impassive and devoid of judgement, yet strangely vivid all at once. Pale lips moved, but none of the words reached him even as he sunk down onto his knees next to the barrier, placing his palm onto the plane surface, splaying his fingers. After a few moments, his action was mirrored by his counterpart as Allen too reached out and placed his palm there as well.

**- o0o -**

"_Say…"_

**- o0o -**

"_Sometimes, I cannot help but wonder…"_

**- o0o -**

"…_Which one of us will remain once the curtain has fallen…"_

**- o0o -**

_Silence._

_He closed his eyes._

"_The time to act is now, young fool… before the final act begins…"_

**- o0o -**

_Tap._

_Red opened his eyes._

_Silver-grey eyes looked back at him from beyond._

_Pale lips moved silently._

_Red snorted._

"_You need more time?"_

_He paused, amber eyes closing briefly before opening again, gazing at his counterpart on the other side._

"_Time is one of the few things that I can give you, but I cannot fill in for you forever…" he paused briefly, a bleak smile adorning his features. "After all… You're the lead, are you not?"_

**- o0o -**

"_You have twenty-four hours, but if needed be then I might have to cut that time in half."_

_He shrugged mildly._

"_It is as much time as I can afford to give."_

**- o0o -**

The light surrounding him gradually died down, retreating back into him or sinking into the floor itself. The darkness seemed thicker then – thicker but not overwhelming – and the shadows respectfully kept their distance. Even so, the ever-present disembodied voices lingered, continuing to echo within. He closed his eyes.

**- o0o -**

"_Red…"_

_She was there again, seated on top of one of the headstones in the lakeside cemetery._

"_We can end this anytime you want to… all you need to do is say the word…"_

_He snorted, refusing to allow himself to be pulled in._

"_I don't need help from you, not from any of you people."_

_She scoffed at him in response._

"_We're family."_

_He scoffed right back at her._

"_Family? Don't make me laugh," he responded, his child form materialising up on one of the thicker branches in one of the dead trees. "Did you tell that same lie to the Fourteenth or did the Fourteenth tell it to you?"_

"_It's the truth," the Noah of Dreams bit back, incensed but hiding it well. "Where's Allen?"_

"_Allen this, Allen that," Red snorted, his face impassive as he gazed down at her from his elevated position. "It's all about Allen to you people, isn't it? Everything's about Allen…"_

"_Jealous much?" Road shot back, jumping down from the headstone._

"_Not really," Red responded, shrugging mildly. "I am merely noting the fact that you lot care more about a created character than about the creator himself. Then again, you lot probably just see him as the reincarnation of the Fourteenth… which he is, technically speaking, but then again so am I."_

_She stuck out her tongue in response and he returned the sentiment with an obscene gesture._

"_Keep telling yourself that," Road replied, her amber-coloured eyes glittering with glee. "It's obvious you'll be going down soon enough. And then-…"_

"_And then nothing," Red responded, dangling his legs over the branch where he was seated. "I gave Allen a chance to end it, but he failed spectacularly on that one, so the ball is back in my court so I can do whatever I want with it… and as such, I'm betting on chance."_

"_Chance?" Road repeated, her voice betraying her scepticism. "You honestly believe you have a chance against the Fourteenth?"_

"_Believe?" Red smiled wryly. "I know."_

_She laughed._

_Red's smile just turned vicious, something which she noticed and which silenced her._

"_I trust Allen to work this out, since I have given him the time to do it," Red continued, his voice bland. "I am not doing this alone, after all."_

"_You'll kill yourself, both of you," Road returned._

"_There is always a risk, but without risk there is no gain," Red responded. "Now scram and stop entering uninvited."_

_She said nothing for a long while, giving him this really odd look. Then she turned, holding her hand out to summon one of her doors. As one appeared before her and as she was entering it, she turned suddenly, levelling him with a look filled with conflicted emotions._

"_You are so much alike," she said, a hint of sadness visible in her eyes. "Yet, you're nothing like him at all."_

"_I'm not him, so go figure," Red shot back, but she was already gone._

_He sighed, leaving his elevated position. His feet impacted on the frozen ground beneath._

"_I'm not him," he repeated once more._

_The shadowy figure behind him begged to differ._

**- o0o -**


	26. The Twenty–Sixth Testament

…

**- o0o -**

**The Twenty-Sixth Testament**

– **The Thirteenth Act, Part III –**

**The Red Joker**

**- o0o -**

Timothy Hearst scowled at his companion while making his way down a case of stairs. Subtlety had never been one of his strong points, but he decidedly went out of his own way to display the utter disgust he felt for these people, directing all that disgust and all that anger towards his current companion, the idiotic redheaded Bookman apprentice, causing said apprentice to shift a bit uneasily every once in a while, a single emerald eye discreetly glancing down at him every now and then as if to make sure Timothy wouldn't go from practicing death-glares and being verbally abusive to exercising actual violence. The thought itself only served to deepen Timothy's scowl; he was a kid, admittedly, but he was not stupid or anything. Miranda and Crowley had talked to him, confirming that physically lashing out at anyone was a seriously stupid idea, especially if he ever wanted to see Allen again.

Hence, Timothy had exercised restraint and had accommodated his behaviour to fit that of being minimally cooperative. Thus, he wasn't going to be completely impossible to deal with, but he sure as Hell wasn't going to make things easy for them either. Even so, as things appeared, his effort to remain minimally cooperative had reaped unexpected rewards, allowing him the privilege of talking to Allen. It had taken a whole lot of glaring and a whole lot of persuasion to do the trick, but no amount of glaring or persuasion had managed to eliminate the annoying escort. Still, it was better than nothing, because he really needed to talk to Allen, because the latter owed him answers.

Making his way down the corridor with his annoying escort following two steps or so behind, he found himself stopping in front of a solid wall. The Bookman apprentice stopped as well, pulling out a communicator of some sort and speaking into it. "We're here now. Open up."

**- o0o -**

_"This… isn't right."_

**- o0o -**

Timothy found himself swallowing soundly, bracing himself for what was about to come as the wall seemingly melted away.

**- o0o -**

_"It just isn't right… to keep him locked up in there."_

**- o0o -**

He hadn't known what to expect, but even though he had made up several equally awful scenarios in his head, the sight of Allen once the cell had been lit up a bit took him aback. Matted greyish skin stuck out like a sore thumb beneath the whiteness of all those bandages, beneath the seals which riddled the iron manacles which held the snowy-haired teen's wrists trapped in place above his head where he sat cross-legged with his back against the wall, his face half-hidden beneath the messy white fringe, his eyes closed. For a single terrifying moment, Timothy stood frozen, fearing that the worst had truly come to pass, but then his eyes caught a bit of movement as the other's bandaged chest rose and fell, matching a slow and barely noticeable intake and exhalation of air. Without thinking, Timothy sprung forward, ignoring the shout of warning and dodging an attempt to grab him, focused entirely on one thing. "Allen!"

Eyes, coloured amber rather than the usual silver-grey, cracked open and surveyed him blearily as he crouched down before him, holding his hand up while staring intently at him. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

A slow blink preceded the answer he was given, but the answer itself was deadpan, mirroring the expression found in the amber-coloured eyes surveying him. "…None."

Inwardly smiling in triumph over this seeming victory of having established contact, Timothy schooled his features to match the seriousness of the task he had at hand. "Very good. How about now?"

The amber eyes looked at the hand, and then at him, impassive. "…Seven."

Timothy tried again. "And how about now?"

"Four," the other responded, just as impassive, though Timothy could have sworn he had seen him do a slight eye roll.

He tried once more. "How about-…?"

"…Would you happen to be bothering me with any particular purpose in mind or were you just bored?" the shackled teen finally bit back, studying him with just as impassively as before.

Timothy smiled openly, proud over his own success in bringing out the blatant sarcasm which could really have belonged to no other. He withdrew slightly, straightening up and secretly relishing in the fact that Allen was looking up at him rather than the opposite. "Nah, I just wanted to come in and see how you're doing."

The eyes swept past him, focusing briefly on his redheaded escort before returning their attention to him once more. "And him?"

Timothy shrugged mildly, his earlier frustration and anger regarding the matter temporarily pushed aside, but not forgotten. "He just wanted to come in and make sure you wouldn't try to kill me for some stupid reason…" he then said, leaning closer in a conspiring whisper. "And to eavesdrop on everything we're saying, of course."

Allen, even with his strangely coloured eyes and strangely coloured skin, suddenly looked uncharacteristically amused. "You don't say?"

Noticing the tone in the other's voice, Timothy could not help but frown slightly. The pitch seemed slightly off compared to how the other usually spoke, and the intonation was a bit off as well, sounding mildly exaggerated, a bit more melodic. _Joker_, his mind supplied for him, startling him slightly, something which only served to add to the seeming amusement of the person in question. _Red._

"In any case," Allen – no, Red the Joker – responded, tilting his head slightly to the side. "The person you're looking for is unavailable at the moment, but I – Joker – will forward any messages you might have for him if you'd like…" he paused slightly. "So… how may I be of assistance?"

The question was clearly directed not at Timothy himself but rather at the other person present in the room, so he turned, eyeing the redhead where he stood studying them both with seeming interest. "You know," the redhead then said, sounding vaguely amused. "For being called Joker you don't seem to joke a whole lot, do you?"

The expression on Joker's face gradually morphed into a wry smirk as he tilted his head to the other side. "Perhaps, perhaps not, or perhaps you lot are simply too mentally retarded to understand them when I do," he then returned, his voice light. "Then again, perhaps my existence in itself is but a cruel joke of some higher power… However…" he paused slightly, tilting his head back up straight. "My identity as Joker does not refer to that…"

"Oh?" the Bookman apprentice let out, sounding intrigued.

Timothy's eyes narrowed slightly, darting back to rest on the Joker where he sat, wondering what the guy was doing, clearly baiting the redhead like that.

"I am a joker," Joker then said, his amber eyes pinning the apprentice with their somewhat eerie gaze. "A fourteenth player who has no place in the game, considering the contradictive nature of my existence."

"Hah, really?" the apprentice returned, sounding sceptical yet intrigued all at once. He took a step forward. "In any case, a joker or not, you ought to have a colour, don't you?"

He advanced on them another step, stepping up so that he was standing side by side with Timothy where he stood glaring at him but the redhead paid him no heed, focusing entirely on the Noah where he sat. "Red or black, which one is it?"

The eerie amber-coloured eyes continued to study the apprentice for a long time. Then, they suddenly darted off elsewhere, coming up to meet with Timothy's own as the white-haired teen answered. "Both."

"Joker…" Timothy found himself saying, stepping forward and crouching down before him once more all while those creepy eyes kept on watching him in silence. "That thing you said to me on that night… is it really true?"

Joker tilted his head to the side, directing his gaze towards a nearby wall. "As you may or may not recall, I do not tell lies," he then said, tilting is head to the side once more.

"But then…" Timothy began briefly before falling silent, shooting a slightly dirty glare in direction of the intently listening apprentice.

The frustration was back; he needed to ask a lot of things but couldn't, not with that guy listening in on them like that. Even so, the other's eyes came back to rest upon him, informing him that the he had seemingly caught onto what Timothy had been meaning to ask.

"Oh? You mean that thing?" Joker said, shrugging as much as his restraints would allow. "Unlike others, I will not impose such a heavy duty onto anyone…" he paused briefly and smiled reassuringly, even though Timothy himself was by no means reassured by it. "Relax; I've got it covered."

"Might I ask what you two are talking about?" the apprentice butted in.

Timothy was about to snarl something unseemly back at him, but before he was able to say anything, Joker responded in his place. "Nothing much," the white-haired teen said, sounding amused. "We're merely discussing a few matters of greater and lesser importance to the continued survival of humankind. The usual stuff, you know."

"Then I take it you will remain uncooperative," the redhead returned, crossing his arms, earning himself a scoff in return.

"Oh please," Allen – no, Joker – snorted, eyeing him in clear distaste. "If you wanted cooperation on my part you wouldn't have locked me up and sent a child to interrogate me."

"Hey," the apprentice protested. "He's the one who asked for it."

"And you lot just felt like granting an audience with me due to a request by a mere child?" Joker returned, lifting an eyebrow. "Don't make me laugh."

"Hey!" Timothy protested, dismayed at having been referred to in such a manner.

He was pointedly ignored however, as both Joker and the Bookman apprentice engaged in some sort of silent staring contest. Eventually, the apprentice cracked, averting his eyes and shifting slightly where he stood. "So…" he said, shifting once more and directing his single visible eye back to the Joker where he sat. "This might be a weird question, but whose side are you on anyway? Who do you support in this war?"

Timothy opened his mouth to give voice to another protest, only to have Joker give his response before he was able to.

"… I am a solitary existence, a one-man team," the white-haired teen responded, sounding like he was reciting a work of literature. "I swear no allegiance and I take orders from no one."

Timothy bristled in silence, just about ready to voice yet another protest when he was once again beaten to it by the Bookman apprentice.

"What about your companions?" the redhead questioned, his tone of voice betraying his confusion. "Are they not a part of your team?"

He was rewarded with yet another light shrug from Joker. "They tagged along of their own accord and stayed for reasons their own, and they were free to leave at any time they wished," the latter responded, his voice taking on a dismissive tone. "Besides, considering the fact that I am the only one of us who's locked up and chained to a wall at the moment, I do believe I am correct in assuming that I will be the only one who will be expecting a visit from the Inquisition within the near future."

_The what?_

Brown eyes darted back and forth between the two, all while a rapidly processing the new information. A growing sense of realisation came down on him like a sledgehammer as his eyes darted back to Joker where he sat, taking in the greyish skin and the amber-coloured eyes which clearly labelled the other a heretic. His blood ran cold then, rendering him speechless.

"…How did you know about that?" the redheaded apprentice finally asked, scratching his head while looking mildly uncomfortable.

"News travel fast," Joker returned, deadpan.

"Who told you about it?" the redhead inquired, sounding both curious and confused at the same time.

"No one told me," Joker responded with another shrug. "Or rather, you just confirmed it for me."

"Ehm…" the apprentice coughed lightly, seemingly unable to find a proper answer to that. "Well… this feels kind of awkward."

"No shit," Joker – he sounded more like the usual Allen by the second – returned, deadpan. Even so, Timothy barely noticed, his mind caught up in the terrifying realisation of the fate which awaited Allen.

"Anyways…" the Bookman apprentice eventually continued, scratching his head while looking rather puzzled. "I need to ask you a couple of questions, since things really aren't making a lot of sense to me anymore."

"Things rarely do," Joker readily agreed, tilting his head to the side with a slight smile playing on his lips. "Then ask your questions if you must, Bookman Apprentice… but whether or not I'll answer them is entirely up to me…"

"Fair enough," said apprentice agreed, starting right off the bat. "Where is Cross Marian?"

Timothy's head immediately snapped up in attention at the mention of that Bastard's name.

Joker just shrugged. "The Bastard's exact whereabouts are unknown to me, but I do believe he is heading eastward."

"Where is he going?" the apprentice went on.

"Unknown," Joker returned. "I do have a fair guess though."

"Where?" the apprentice asked, receiving another shrug in return.

"Edo, Japan."

Timothy blinked in surprise. _What?_

"The Earl's stronghold?!" the apprentice half-shouted in clear disbelief.

"Where else?" Joker calmly retorted, leaning his head back to rest against the wall, closing his eyes.

"What's his purpose in going there?"

"Unknown."

"Got any fair guesses to share?"

A single amber eye cracked open, surveying the redhead. "Let me think," Joker said, cracking his other eye open as well, tilting his head forward a bit. "No."

The redhead went on, refusing to be deterred. "What's the Earl planning?"

Amber eyes narrowed slightly. "You mean besides general world domination and imminent world destruction?" Joker questioned, pausing briefly. Then, he shut his eyes completely and leaned his head back against the wall once more. "No really, you should ask someone else," he said. "I am not even on his payroll. He did try to recruit me quite some time ago, but I turned him down."

The apprentice blinked somewhat stupidly at him. "You did what? But aren't you a-…"

Amber eyes cracked back open, giving the redhead a look which was almost completely identical to the one Allen pulled off all the time, the one conveying the quite clear and purely rhetorical message of _Are-You-an-Idiot?_. Apparently, the redhead managed to decipher the message quite easily as he soon threw his hands up in response. "Okay, forget about it," he said. "Just tell me this one thing… Why did you go to such lengths to-…" he paused, seemingly unable to figure out how to continue.

"To save the brat's life?" Joker finished, keeping his voice light even as he kept on giving Timothy a pointed look which basically screamed Allen from miles away. "Who knows?"

Confusion riddled Timothy's mind for several moments before a sense of realisation finally began to dawn on him. He took a step forward, followed by another and then yet another, a shorter one, sending him into an almost stumble which in turn caused him to crash against the other's bandage-riddled frame. Ignoring the startled gasp of his escort and the pained hiss from the white-haired teen, he threw his arms around the other's neck, clinging to him. _"Le Rouge,"_ he said before withdrawing, getting back up and nearly immediately heading towards the exit. "Tell Allen… to hurry the Hell up and come back here. Miranda's really worried, Crowley's just the same, and I am getting sick and tired of waiting."

Joker smiled wryly in response, watching him intently as Timothy turned around and exited once the wall opened up for him. The Bookman apprentice blinked slightly at this odd display before turning his attention fully towards the amber-eyed teen where he sat staring impassively at him once more. "Hey, _le Rouge_?" the apprentice began. "Hurry the Hell up with what?

Joker's wry smile returned in full force and he tilted his head slightly to the side. "That is for us to know and for you to find out."

**- o0o -**


	27. The Twenty–Seventh Testament

…

**- o0o -**

**The Twenty-Seventh Testament**

– **The Thirteenth Act, Part IV –**

**The Black Joker**

**- o0o -**

In general, Aleister Crowley was a man of few words. The lack of normal social interaction and alienation he had faced in his youth had made him a bit awkward in general, unsure as to how to act around people and unsure as to when to voice his thoughts and when to keep silent. However, being the man who he was, he often opted for the latter. Besides, more often than not, there was never really any need for him to open his mouth to voice his opinion because what he was thinking or feeling about a particular matter at hand was often quite evident from the way he held himself, from the way he shifted. Then again, Allen also had a tendency to act in such a way, even if he was far more rhetorically gifted than Crowley as far as the latter was concerned.

Allen…

The former count shifted his gaze from the gloomy sight of Miranda Lotto where she sat across the hall, engaged in something which looked very much like knit work, but from the way she twitched from time to time he could easily tell that it was not working out for her and that she was really tense, likely due to the scrutiny she received from elsewhere, namely from one of the exorcist that had landed them this place. Then again, Crowley mused, perhaps it was incorrect to refer to it as scrutiny, seeing that the exorcist in question appeared to be without sight but seemed to be quite endeared by her even so, even though it should have been painfully obvious to anyone – even to a blind person – that his presence was making very uncomfortable.

Crowley supposed he could technically rise from his seat once he had cleared the rest of his plate – one of many – but he also supposed he could not. For obvious reasons, he preferred keeping his level of interaction with the exorcists to a bearable minimum, seeing that they still persisted in their inquiries about why he had suddenly decided to ditch them on the train on that day which felt like a whole lifetime ago. The decision he had made back then – a conscious one at that, even though he had not quite understood the full significance of it initially – was not one he regretted, even if it did make him more of a deserter in their eyes since he could not plead to have been completely ignorant about his status as an accommodator of Innocence. It had been an impulsive decision to tag along with a couple of virtual strangers, but then again he would probably have considered himself a coward if he had stayed there on the train with a bunch of people he didn't really know all that well either. Besides, Allen – with words as well as with actions – had unwittingly managed to inspire far more loyalty in him within the span of less than an hour than the exorcist party had within the span of a day.

Back then, back when he was still alone and still living in that castle – even after Eliade had come along – he had never really had any good reference point as to what would make a good comrade, and as such, when the exorcists arrived to tear down the life he had built for himself and Eliade, he hadn't really had any good way of discerning whether or not they were as good comrades as some of them professed themselves to be. Now however, with Allen and Miranda and the Brat as reference points, Crowley felt as though he could see things a bit more clearly.

Good comrades took care of each other. Good comrades were like family, and family members protected each other.

The Brat turned up by his side and Crowley slowly withdrew the fork from his mouth, his eyes directed off into the distance all while his attention was almost entirely directed towards the brat beside him. "How was he?" he asked quietly, making sure the massive pile of emptied plates obscured them enough for them to talk in reasonable privacy.

Timothy buried his head in his arms, leaning onto the table. "He's mostly fine, but isn't ready yet," he answered back just as quietly. "He needs more time."

Crowley snorted softly in response. "He doesn't have much time left."

Timothy remained in the position he was, murmuring against the table. "Red said they're working on it."

"They're running out of time," Crowley softly responded, putting yet another emptied plate aside.

"He promised," Timothy responded just as softly. "And Red doesn't tell lies."

Crowley closed his eyes briefly, accepting the words as truth; he was not all too sure about the things that were taking place within Allen, and altogether he was not all that knowledgeable about this Red side of him, but Timothy seemed to know what he was talking about so Crowley simply left it at that. "So you went through with it then?" he finally asked. The brat shifted somewhat guiltily before nodding. "Good job."

The brat smiled triumphantly, his guilt over his reckless deed instantly forgotten. Crowley smiled as well, wryly, baring his fangs to the world for a brief second before concealing them once more.

Like families, comrades took care of their own. Like families, comrades looked out for each other.

Crowley stood up.

Miranda looked up. He nodded to her and watched as she sagged in relief.

Allen had always looked out for them, consciously or unconsciously, and it was high time for them to make sure they did the same.

**- o0o -**

Red snorted in clear disbelief. "Fools."

He leant his head forward again, allowing it to hang limply as he kept his eyes closed. Taking in slow, measured breaths, he slowly began tuning back out. However, before he was able to disappear, a shift in his surroundings alerted him to the fact that someone had entered his cell and he drew back into himself, keeping his eyes closed and his body limp as he went along, trying to sense for the other's presence. The latter proved neither difficult nor time-consuming, especially not with the shuffling in the background. Even so, having pinpointed his unexpected visitor, Red nearly startled when said person's voice resonated clearly throughout the cell, coming from a point much closer than the one he had estimated. "Allen Walker…"

A pause.

Red did not stir.

"…Or is it Red right now?"

Amber-coloured eyes cracked open slightly, though they were still obscured by a curtain of dishevelled white hair.

"I must admit that I wanted a chance to speak with you," the unfamiliar voice continued, sounding vaguely amused. "Since I've heard such interesting things about you…"

Red resisted a sudden urge to snort, all while he heard footfalls on the stone floor, closing in. "I would've liked to greet you properly, with a handshake and all, before you know…"

The footfalls came to a stop, and Red tilted his head upwards, giving his newest visitor a disinterested look. "…Before the Crows turn up to dissect me?" he then dryly retorted, tilting his head mildly to the side.

To his mild surprise, his visitor – a short messy-haired blond man with Asian features wearing some sort odd-looking beret – smiled apologetically, scratching the back of his head. "Ah, I'm really sorry about that," the man said. "I attempted to keep your presence here under wraps as much as possible, but someone had already reported back to Headquarters by then, so…"

Frowning mildly, Red found himself assessing the man, taking in the white tight-fitting bolero jacket. His eyes moved from the Rose Cross decorating it to the tattoos decorating the man's arms, and his frown deepened. Then, unable to discern an answer on his own, he looked towards the other's face again, his own face deadpan once more. "Why?"

The man in question – he was starting to look a bit familiar for some reason – just tilted his head to the side in question.

"Why," Red repeated, shaking his head a bit so that he got some of the hair out of his eyes. "Why would you attempt to keep it a secret?"

He earned a mild shrug in return. "…Why indeed?" the blond man said, pausing slightly. "I wish I had a decent reason for it, but somehow I just…"

Red just stared at him rather impassively, even as the man moved to crouch down before him.

"You know," the man said a bit thoughtfully. "Had I entered this place without any knowledge about you other than what's already in the reports, then I would have had virtually no qualms whatsoever about turning you over to Central, but… after speaking with your companions, I just had to go see for myself… the person who is capable of inspiring such loyalty in others…"

Amber-coloured eyes directed themselves elsewhere, giving at a nearby wall a disinterested look. "…And then you turned up to gawk at said person like an idiot?" he finally asked, giving the man a short look before once again directing his eyes elsewhere, earning himself a laugh in return.

"Well," the man said, sounding very much amused. "I'm trying to hold an ongoing conversation here, but you're obviously not very obliging… not that I can blame you or anything…"

Scoffing, Red snapped his head to the side, levelling the man with a glare. The latter did not seem fazed by it though, remaining in his former position. "But you know," the man continued. "If a man's worth is to be decided by his actions, then you are certainly not a bad person, not by any means."

Hearing this, Red snorted in disbelief, but the man seemed to pay him no heed.

"You've cheated, stolen and fought, but not solely for your own sake," the man went on, sounding thoughtful. "Time and time again, you could have left them – your companions – behind and run off to the Earl, but you didn't. Instead, you taught them, trained them and protected them, sometimes at the risk of losing your own life…"

Red scoffed. "…A foolish mistake on my part, no doubt," he finally responded, once again looking at the wall.

"Yet, it's a mistake you keep on making over and over, don't you think?" the man smiled, even as Red's eyes darkened. "You pick up one stray, followed by another, followed by yet another…"

"You should be having this conversation with Allen," Red bit back, shooting him another look. "Still…" he went on, his tone hinting at something akin to curiosity. "What's your point?"

"My point?" the man repeated, straightening up and taking a step back to put a bit more distance between them. "My point is that you're not a bad person, regardless of the colour of your skin."

Amber eyes narrowed slightly. "…And?"

The man just shrugged mildly. "…You being taken away by Central will no doubt cause uproar amongst them, and they'll probably not make it out unscathed, seeing that they're on shaky grounds already as it is…"

Amber eyes narrowed even further. "…So?"

A deep sigh. Resignation intermingling with curiosity.

"Don't you care?" the man finally asked, tilting his head mildly to the side.

Red snorted in response. "…Even if I do care, what can I do?" he finally responded, deadpan. "My hands are tied – or shackled, take your pick."

There it was again, that strangely apologetic smile. "Ah, sorry about that; I got ahead of myself."

"…You're a really weird person," Red finally said, an almost-smile momentarily gracing his features.

"Why thank you," the odd man responded with a slight bow. Then, he straightened up suddenly, an alert look entering his eyes. "I must go. Our barriers are being attacked again."

Red kicked up an eyebrow in response.

"Why do you look so surprised?" the man said, halfway out already. "Regardless of where your loyalties lie, the akuma have obviously picked up on your presence… No, they've probably even been given explicit orders to find you. Hence the reason as to why we're currently in a lockdown."

_The Earl._

Amber eyes fell shut momentarily.

"But," the man continued, pausing in his stride once more. "As I said, you're not a bad person. No matter what happens, remember that."

The eyes slowly opened again, only this time around, they were silver-grey. "…What makes you so sure?"

The blond man just smiled. "Believe it or not, I do consider myself a fairly good judge of character," he said, just as the wall closed back up behind him. "Allen Walker."

**- o0o -**

Sighing, Allen leant back against the wall. It was a strange feeling, like waking up from a long dream into what could possibly count as a nightmare, or at least so he supposed.

Silver-grey eyes surveyed their surroundings, taking in small details and filing them away before he allowed himself to slump forward again, hanging limply in the shackles. "Tim… he's gone. You can come out now."

The golem liberated itself from one of the deeper pockets of his coat, taking to the air before it begun projecting a recording of recent events onto one of the walls. Once it had finished, Allen gave a rise to thoughtful snort. "I suppose I've got to give the Brat a bit more credit," he said. "He's got guts, and brains too apparently."

Closing his eyes briefly, he breathed slowly a few times, mentally preparing himself for what awaited. Then, he looked up, his eyes levelling on the winged golem where it hovered about him.

"Timcanpy," he spoke softly before issuing a single command, closing his eyes once more as words – familiar yet foreign – began rolling of his tongue, stringing together into verses. The words, the memories; they felt intrusive and sickening, like tendrils of liquefied shadow clinging to him, trying to pull him back underneath the surface, trying to reign him in and influence his thoughts. In a way, he wanted little more than to recoil from them, to thoroughly reject the darkness which lay within, but he also knew that he could not; the Shadow – the Fourteenth – possessed knowledge he needed, and he would attain it even if it meant running the risk of being possessed in return. He needed to remain in control, and he needed to retain focus; if he allowed himself to show weakness then the darkness within would no doubt take advantage and he could not fight two enemies – one on the outside and the other within – and especially not in his current condition. He could already sense himself approaching the limit as he was, since healing the injuries which should by all means have been fatal had drained most of his stamina already. He needed to focus.

Momentarily, his eyes flashed amber again, narrowing slightly. He needed to tap into the Fourteenth, but he had no idea about how long he would be able to remain in full control of himself.

**- o0o -**

"_Fifteen minutes, give or take a few…"_

**- o0o -**

His head snapped up sharply, his eyes silver-grey once more. _"Red?" _he inwardly asked, pausing for a brief moment to envision his inner landscape.

**- o0o -**

_A red-haired child sat by the lake, dangling his legs over the edge._

_He watched idly as the murky darkness moved about beneath the surface._

"_If you make it out within that time and cut off the connection in time, you'll be fine… probably."_

_Amber eyes looked up, looking straight at him._

"_You'll make it through… no matter what." _

**- o0o -**

Something snapped right above him, and right afterwards, the heavy shackle fell to the floor with a clank as he too collapsed when there was nothing left to steady him. He remained that way, toppled over and lying on his side for what felt like a long time before he finally cracked his eyes open again and attempted to get up. He did manage to do so, but was forced to steady himself against the wall as his vision started swimming a bit. Leaning more heavily against the wall, he forced himself to take slow steady breaths all while his mind vaguely registered the golem fluttering about close to him. Cursing softly, he slid back down the wall into a seated position.

**- o0o -**

"_You'll make it through…" _

**- o0o -**

_There was a cold hand on his cheek, caressing it reassuringly as a vaguely familiar voice – an echo – resonated in his head._

**- o0o -**

_"Both of you."_

**- o0o -**

He gritted his teeth, his eyes momentarily switching to amber before once again returning to their normal colour as he stood up once more, more steady than the first time around. "Right…" he said. "Time to get-…"

"…-You home." His head snapped up in surprise, eyes wide. He spun around, catching sight of a familiar face before a hand seized him by the throat and pulled him back up against the body of another. Cursing inwardly, he struggled to pry the offending appendage off of him, only to have his wrists snatched up and forced together in another as the hand clamped around his throat tightened its grip, effectively cutting off his flow of air. "Come along now, Boy," said Tyki Mikk, retaining his grip, his smirk evident from the tone of his voice. "It'd be rude to keep the Earl waiting."

_Crap._

It was a grave understatement.

**- o0o -**


	28. The Twenty–Eighth Testament

…

**- o0o -**

**The Twenty-Eighth Testament**

– **The Final Act, Part I –**

**The Choices to Make**

**- o0o -**

_He was a child without a name and without a past, a nameless waif. _

_Red was a name which had been bestowed upon him for the sake of convenience, and it was devoid of any attachments, just like him... _

_Until he met that person…_

_Mana Walker._

"_Aren't you sad?"_

"_I'm so sad I could die… but I can't cry."_

_The mad clown, deranged by grief, crouched down as he placed a single star-patterned ball on top of a makeshift grave, shedding no tears for the trusted canine companion which lay within it._

"_Maybe my tears have dried up."_

**- o0o -**

"_They just won't come."_

**- o0o -**

_Red didn't understand._

_He didn't want to understand, because such things were beyond him._

_Or so he thought._

**- o0o -**

"_What's up with that?"_

**- o0o -**

"_What was his name?"_

**- o0o -**

_He really didn't understand humans._

_However, at times, he found that he understood himself even less._

_A single luminescent drop fell down into a pool of darkness, rippling the surface._

"_How come… I'm the one crying?"_

_Rings spread across the surface before echoing out into nothingness._

_However, out of that nothingness, something was born._

**- o0o -**

"_Allen?"_

**- o0o -**

_Back then, he had had little use for a name because he had answered to no one, regardless of what that bastard of a ringmaster had chosen to believe._

_In order to survive, he had done what he had to, but he had never gone anywhere beyond that with the intention of pleasing anyone._

_He had been no one, a nameless waif in a crowd, a nameless face framed with dishevelled red hair, his eyes a dull grey, staring impassively at the world which had lain before them._

_Fate had never been kind to him, but with all due honesty, he had found that he could not bring himself to care much for such a thing. Things like kindness were beyond him, and since people only ever did things for others when they expected something in return, he did the same. It was a policy which had never brought him any friends seeing that he was so open with it, but then again he had never really needed friends in the first place. _

_Friends were noisy, crowding, suffocating and far more trouble than they were worth, getting in the way – in his way. He had never needed friends; he had intended to become strong on his own and once he would have deemed himself strong enough he would have left that hellhole of a circus behind. However…_

_He had left, but he had returned, perhaps because it had been the only consistent thing in his life that he had ever known. He had hated himself for it, hated the fact that a part of him still longed for some semblance of stability, for some consistency in an ever changing world, and whether he liked it or not, he too had changed with it, tapping into abilities he had never known himself to possess._

_He hadn't been able to cope – not as Allen, at least – and that was a thing which had frustrated him to no end. He had sought to hide deep within, to leave the life he had once fought so hard to keep to the outer persona he had created during his time with Mana the Madman, but before he knew it he was been out again, out on the surface. _

_It had all been that accursed piano's fault, and it had been a grave mistake on his part to approach it and even more so to play it. If he hadn't, then perhaps that other musician – the one whose memories had at some point been buried within him – would not have begun resurfacing as early as he had._

_Had he known back then what he did now, then he would probably have done what he had meant to do all along; he would have kept his independence and involved himself with nothing and with no one. He would have continued drifting, unaccompanied, because things like companionship, loyalty, love and kindness were supposed to have been far beyond him, but even so… he had gotten involved when he shouldn't have._

_He closed his eyes._

**- o0o -**

_Cradling a hurting but bandaged wrist, he shot a dirty glare at the young musician sitting next to him on the steps._

"_Why did you interfere?"_

_The musician turned his head slightly, eyeing him thoughtfully for a moment before removing the apple from his mouth to smile disarmingly._

"_Why not?"_

_Red snorted, looking away._

**- o0o -**

_The musician laughed, handing him an apple._

"_Want one?"_

_Red snorted, refusing to take it._

_The other just kept on smiling._

"_It's just an apple. Have it."_

_Red scoffed at him._

"_I don't need it."_

"_You sure?" the musician persisted, and Red's eyes narrowed slightly in response._

"_Take it," the musician insisted, holding it out to him._

_He brushed the hand aside, giving the other a flat look._

"_I don't need charity. Not from you, not from anyone."_

_The musician just continued smiling._

"_True, but it is not charity… it is a gift."_

"… _For what?"_

_Red frowned openly at him, and his frown only deepened when the man retained his silence, directing his eyes elsewhere to stare thoughtfully into the distance._

"_One day… you'll probably understand."_

_Red snorted, but palmed the apple even so._

"_I won't."_

_The other just continued smiling._

"…_You will…"_

**- o0o -**

"_You did."_

_He opened his eyes again, looking up at the mirage of the musician where he stood._

"_All thanks to you, no doubt," he snorted, shifting slightly. "But… what happens now?"_

_The young musician smiled._

"_That is for you… and for Allen to decide, isn't it?"_

_The man paused slightly before moving forward, laying his hands on Red's face, speaking with conviction._

"_You'll make it through. Both of you will."_

_Red snorted, brushing the ghostly hands aside._

"_As much as I'd like to believe you, it's in my nature to expect the worst."_

"_So I've heard," the musician acknowledged, retaining his smile._

_Red shifted slightly._

"_With all due likelihood, it's already too late for me anyway," he said. "My connection with the Memories runs too deep, so I cannot distance myself from them without disintegrating my sense of self in the process. Allen, however, Allen still has a choice…"_

_The musician tilted his head to the side._

"_Still… you do have a choice, do you not?"_

_Amber eyes looked up at him._

"_What about the Memories?"_

_The musician shrugged in response._

"_Memories are just memories," he said. "If you're strong enough not to allow them to overpower you, then they should hold no power over you. That is the truth."_

_Red snorted._

"_Why would you know?"_

_The musician just continued smiling._

"_Call it a dead man's intuition."_

_Red scoffed at this, especially as the other's apparition steadily began to grow more transparent._

"_If this doesn't work out, I'll find you and kill you for suggesting it."_

_The musician just laughed as his existence finally faded and the sound of his laughter echoed out into nothingness._

_Amber eyes looked up towards the skies, narrowing slightly at the sight of the assembling storm clouds._

"_Wake up."_

**- o0o -**

_Darkness all around him._

_There was no air; he couldn't breathe._

"_Allen, wake up."_

_A voice called out to him in the darkness, echoing against nonexistent walls._

"_Allen, wake up."_

**- o0o -**

"…_Allen?"_

**- o0o -**

_Red closed his eyes, raising his hands a bit to position them so that his palms were pressed together as he concentrated on doing what had to be done._

"_**Terminate connection."**_

_And that was that._

**- o0o -**

Murky darkness retreated and consciousness came rushing back in.

Silver-grey eyes snapped wide open, and Allen found himself gasping for breath, leaning his side heavily onto a nearby wall for additional support. For several moments, he just breathed, but it did not take very long for him to spot the Noah who now stood frozen at the other end of the cell, watching him with a strange expression. It was also around then that he finally became conscious of the fact that his Innocence had at some point surrounded him, hovering over him like a shield. He had no memories of having invocated it in the first place, but such small details mattered very little to him as he was content with simply being able to breathe freely again, even though exhaustion still lingered, making his limbs feel far heavier than they actually were. The sensation of having been choked also lingered, and in an instant one of his hands flew to his throat, confirming the formation of such bruises.

"Hoh…" His eyes snapped to Tyki Mikk where he stood. "You're full of surprises, Boy," the Noah of Pleasure commented, watching him predatorily like a hunter that had just discovered something new and interesting about his intended prey.

Silver-grey eyes narrowed in response. "And you're full of shit," Allen snapped, his brain finally oxygenised enough to make a decent comeback. "You fucking choked me."

The man just shrugged. "You seemed in the middle of something so I improvised. If it's any consolation, I didn't attempt to rip your heart out or anything."

Allen's eyes narrowed even further and he shifted in his posture, poised and ready to either attack or defend himself, should it be needed. "I don't take kindly to people almost killing me."

He was in no condition to fight; he knew that and he held no doubt that Tyki did too. He needed to preserve his energy well, the small portions of it which still remained.

"Well," Tyki finally responded, snickering. "Attacking you like that might've been a bit stupid of me, but you should've seen the look on your face."

Allen snorted in response, retaining his position.

"Even so," the Noah continued, sobering up a bit, extending his hand towards him. "The Earl did send me over here to get you…. and as you should already be aware, it'd be plain rude to keep the Earl waiting."

"I suppose…" Allen scoffed as he straightened up and shifted his posture slightly, deactivating his Innocence. "Then again, rudeness appears to be something of an innate quality of mine."

Tyki Mikk smirked in response, keeping his hand right where it was. "So…You're not coming then?"

Silver-grey eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing.

Amber-coloured eyes glittered a bit unnervingly and the Noah took a step towards him, followed by another, followed by yet another, steadily closing the distance between them all while Allen stubbornly stood his ground.

**- o0o -**

**"**_**Don't stop. Keep walking."**_

**- o0o -**

**"**_**Keep moving."**_

**- o0o -**

"_**The moment you stop is the moment you die. Move forward."**_

**- o0o -**

"_**Move."**_

**- o0o -**

And so, he did.

**- o0o -**

_With a sharp intake of breath, his head snapped up and surprised silver-grey eyes grew even wider at the sight of his own face in a mirror just like one of those which had been around at the circus._

_Frowning, he began to take in his surroundings._

"_Wait…?"_

_There was something missing; something which should be there but wasn't._

_Something vital._

_He tore his eyes away from his surroundings and way too familiar attire and directed his attention back to the mirror, puzzled by the fact that he alone was reflected, but even so he found that he barely even recognised himself._

_Uncombed messy white hair framed his pale face, making him seem even paler than he actually was, and the stormy grey eyes had very pronounced dark circles beneath them, telltale signs that he had not been sleeping for days._

_Dreams, he recalled. They had begun haunting him then, day and night, cutting him off more and more from reality, weaving nets of nightmares to keep him entrapped – to keep him isolated and vulnerable to the things which dwelled deep within._

_He had managed to put a stop to them, somehow – but how?_

_He could not recall; there was something missing, something vital._

_He looked into the mirror again, tracing a finger down along the left side of his face._

_Vaguely, he recalled the existence of a man – a violent man who'd been a lousy performer and an even worse loser – and the since long faded bruises of the numerous beatings he – back when he was still Red – had suffered at his hand._

_Cold, malicious, brutal._

_Cosimo._

_The clown all in white, with a red star painted on the left side of his face._

_The abusive drunkard who had met his face by his – Allen's – hand…_

_His fingers lingered, tracing the outline of a star above his left eyebrow._

_Ah._

_He remembered._

_Where his fingertip had run its course, skin broke and allowed crimson liquid to seep through._

_He wiped the excess amount of blood away with his sleeve, uncaring of how his sleeve was soiled by it._

_He looked into the mirror again, taking in his altered – no, his actual – appearance._

"_I carve my own path, I shape my own fate."_

_Stormy grey eyes met an identical pair in the mirror._

_Strangely enough, he felt complete, like the bleeding disfiguration would come to serve as the proof of something important, even once it had healed and had begun to fade._

_But why?_

_Donning different masks, donning different identities, he had unwittingly become someone else._

_The masks, the cloak, the claw._

_To shield, to protect… something._

_But what?_

_He looked up into the mirror again, seeking answers but finding none._

_Why the scar again? What purpose did it serve?_

_He reached out towards the mirror, his fingertips brushing against the cool reflective surface._

_It stirred then, like rings on water, and his reflection blurred momentarily before clearing up once more, but this time around, a masked person stood in his place._

_The person reached up and dislodged the mask, pushing it aside, revealing the face of an amber-eyed Red beneath it._

_A hand – greyish in its hue – reached up and fingertips in the same hue brushed against the all too familiar scar._

"_**It's right here…"**_

_The hand lowered, resting against the other's chest as amber eyes continued to study him intently._

"_**Here too."**_

_Allen frowned openly._

"_What's there?"_

_Red smirked._

"_**You."**_

_He shifted and suddenly he had phased through the mirror and emerged from it._

_Seated on top of the desk, he brought his hands up to Allen's face as the latter watched him warily._

"_**The anchor of your existence; the mark you made in this world to ensure that you would never forget, that you would live and die as Allen regardless of the masks you chose to wear…"**_

_The world around them grew distorted, and soon it begun to melt away, revealing the ever-familiar moonlit landscape of lakeside cemeteries and red water filled with visions of destruction._

_He closed his eyes._

_He opened them slowly, his eyes meeting the visage of his counterpart – no, of the Musician where he stood._

"_What happens now, Red?"_

_His counterpart smiled._

"_**That is not up to me to decide."**_

_He shifted._

"_**I – Red – was the one who received the Memories and you – Allen – were born with a choice. You and you alone can choose what to make of the life you've been given…"**_

"_**Just like I was born out of darkness, you were born out of light. Light and shadow are counterparts, but neither can exist without the other and neither can we; and neither can the Fourteenth…"**_

_He raised his hand up to his chest again, closing his eyes._

"_**He is right here, contained within me. Memories are just memories, and I overpowered them when I took him in… However, it is a delicate balance, and there's no telling when it'll crumble and our Inner Noah will strive to get free…"**_

_He opened them again, looking at him seriously, speaking with true conviction._

"_**We'll make it through, both of us."**_

_Silver-grey eyes narrowed slightly._

"_How can you be so certain?"_

_A smile._

"_**I just know."**_

_His counterpart shrugged lightly._

"_**I have chosen to step down permanently and bring Him down with me,"**__ he said, his voice light as he turned and walked a few steps away from him before stopping and turning his head, watching him where he stood out of the corner of his eye. __**"You need to take my place."**_

_Allen said nothing, biting his lip while retaining his silence. The words just weren't there anymore._

"_**Choices are never easy to make,"**__ Red readily admitted as he continued walking, putting more distance between them as he headed towards the red lake. __**"Then again, it's still better to have a choice than not to…"**_

_He reached the edge of it and turned._

"_**I have chosen to stop here, just like you – since a long time ago – have chosen to move forward."**_

_A single blood-red drop fell down, rippling the surface._

_Rings spread over the waters before echoing out into nothingness, but new and much greater ripples soon took their place._

**- o0o -**

Allen shivered, forcing his eyes open, his head still filled with lingering echoes.

**- o0o -**


	29. The Twenty–Ninth Testament

…

**- o0o -**

**The Twenty-Ninth Testament**

– **The Final Act, Part II –**

**The Voice in the Deep**

**- o0o -**

_A single luminescent drop fell down into a pool of darkness, rippling the surface._

"_**Don't stop." **_

_The darkness embraced the light and then shied away from it, parting to allow it to fall through._

"_**Keep walking."**_

**- o0o -**

He collapsed against the wall, having had the air temporarily knocked out of him, but he soon staggered to his feet again, sending the Noah responsible for his plight a dark glare all while his Innocence flared up in response to his rush of emotion.

**- o0o -**

_A disembodied voice rose from the deep._

"…_**No matter where it takes you…"**_

_It spoke, but remained unheard._

**- o0o -**

Silver-grey eyes narrowed behind the mask, and they narrowed even further when Tyki Mikk released a swarm of carnivorous butterfly golems from his palms into the air of the cell, of which one of the walls was already sporting a sizeable hole in it.

A sudden thought occurred to him and his eyes snapped to it, confirming that a great deal of said butterflies had already exited it. His eyes snapped back to Tyki Mikk, warily eyeing the man's movements all while he piecing things together. Admittedly, he did feel a bit slow, but after all the shit he had been through, it was no wonder. He was exhausted, running on pure adrenaline and will power rather than anything else, but there was a limit to all things and he vaguely figured that he might even have passed his limit several minutes prior. "What do you think you're doing?" he finally snapped, directing himself to the Noah.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Tyki Mikk responded with a snicker as two Level-Threes appeared silently by his side, bowing their heads in submission.

Allen said nothing, sinking lower into position, ready to either attack or defend at a moment's notice.

"Call it insurance," Tyki said, remaining where he was.

"Insurance?" Allen repeated, retaining his position.

"Why, yes," the Noah returned, as the Level-Threes seemingly shimmered out of existence all while Allen's tingling senses insisted they were still there or thereabouts. "A horde of akuma has already breached the barrier of this place, and right now those exorcists – your _'friends' _included – are fighting for their continued livelihood. However…" he paused slightly, procuring yet another dark butterfly from his palm. "These Tease of mine are slightly different from the ones I usually have, seeing that they have been bred for one purpose and one purpose alone…"

Allen's eyes narrowed.

"I did say… that I took you for a lone wolf when I first saw you," Tyki Mikk continued, shooting him an amused look as the golem took flight. "A lone wolf herding sheep."

Silver-grey eyes narrowed even further. Amber ones glimmered. "And wolves shouldn't befriend sheep in the first place, as you should already be aware, so consider it a favour."

Allen was moving in an instant, and in the next the sole of his bare foot had already implanted itself on said Noah's face before he propelled himself back, made a back flip and landed in a slight crouch before once again straightening up, silver-grey eyes burning with malice. He was rewarded with pained hiss followed by a snicker as Tyki Mikk held a hand to his face, trying to stem the blood running from his seemingly broken nose. Allen just gave him a look of utter distaste. "I'll only say this once, so listen very carefully," he hissed, brandishing his claw, ready to spring forth once more. "If you – any of you, the Earl's toys included – lay hand on them with the purpose of getting to me, I will become your enemy."

"Hoh…" said Noah intoned with a great deal of amusement, wincing slightly as he removed his bloodied appendage from his nose, revealing that the latter had already begun healing to some degree. "An impressive statement for someone who is already dead on their feet…"

Allen's eyes just narrowed again in response.

**- o0o -**

_Static._

_There were voices beyond it, but he only really caught fragments of them._

_One voice, some sort of announcer, rang much clearer than the others and was more easily heard through the interference._

"_Attention: Intruder Alert. The Barrier has been breached."_

_Static._

"_Attention: All non-combative personnel, head for the shelters."_

_More static._

"_Attention: Exorcists, head for Sector Four."_

_Static._

"_Attention-…"_

_Static._

_More static._

_Screams._

**- o0o -**

There was a slight tug from somewhere, growing stronger by the minute, a beckon and call for him to allow himself to be led astray. It was a vile temptation, a notion he fiercely sought to reject, but it remained within, burning brightly in the lurking darkness. Thanks to Red, the Fourteenth had been reined in, but it was still there; the temptation to harness the power locked within.

Greyish skin. A hand steadily held out towards him. "The offer still stands. We can end this anytime you want to, Boy."

Allen's eyes darkened as another round of echoes and images flooded into his head.

The messy-haired beret-wearing man from before was shouting out orders while wielding some sort of power through a bleeding wound in one of his palms. _Bak Chan_, a part of his mind informed him. He was running around, sealing up passages, seemingly intent on putting an end to the rapidly expanding invasion, even though it was plain obvious to anyone that it was futile, seeing that the akuma could make use of whichever system of portals Tyki had entered through. The man with the beret would probably die in there, alongside his fellow members of the Order, and for some reason Allen thought of it as a pity, seeing that the man himself had seemed surprisingly sensible to him, at least if one disregarded the hint of naivety hidden in his posture and expressed views of the world. To speak of stuff like "a man's worth" and say that it was "to be decided by his actions" and the content of their character rather than by the colour of their skin – all with a straight face – was quite a feat, even though such ideals rarely held any place or much support in reality.

_I was never a good person…_

Before his inner eye, Timothy Hearst screwed his eyes shut, trying to block out the screams of terror that still echoed within him. Miranda Lotto mimicked the motion, tears running down her dirtied face. Outwardly, Aleister Crowley remained stoic, but inwardly he cringed at the sight which lay before them. It was sickening to say the least. Allen could feel their emotions almost as clearly as if he had been standing right next to them, yet he could not tell for certain whether the scene he was watching was one taking place in the present or near future or just another of numerous delusional fantasies. Then again, did it even matter?

_I don't play by the rules…_

_I kill, I deceive, I steal…_

_I…_

**- o0o -**

_The dark waters – having stilled – moved again, briefly._

_The surface rippled momentarily, and an array of rings was sent across it, spreading wider and wider into a perceived state of nothingness._

**- o0o -**

He looked up, his eyes determined, eyeing the hand which was still being held out to him. Taking a step backwards, he once again deactivated his Innocence and brought his hands up to chest level and brought them together. "Not today," he said, responding to the earlier offer. He had recovered enough; he could do this. He had never done it before – not in person, not as far as he could recall – but that didn't matter; something compelled him to, and for once, he knew better than to disregard it, because it needed to be done, because otherwise it would be the end of him. "But…" he eventually continued. "If the Earl still wants his lost little sheep, he can come and fetch it for himself… if he can find me, that is."

"So that's it, huh?" Tyki snorted, retracting the hand, sounding far more amused than upset. "You're running away."

Allen snorted. "I have yet to consider this war of yours any war of mine, but when that moment comes and only then will I pick sides in it," he then said, making a number of hand signs.

**- o0o -**

_New rings spread across the surface._

**- o0o -**

"The Earl won't be happy with this, you know?" Tyki said, arms crossed, making no move to stop him as he went through another series of signs, his hands starting to glow slightly.

"He is the Earl of the Millennium, is he not?" Allen returned as he held up his palm, channelling his energy into it. "Then he can surely wait a bit longer."

A snicker. "What about your former companions? They joined the Order, did they not?"

Allen just shrugged, making another couple of hand signs, trying his best to ignore the feelings of exhaustion as they steadily crept up on him yet again. "I've chosen my path and they've chosen theirs. That's all there is to it," he said. "Besides…I have always known where they would end up eventually…"

**- o0o -**

"_**No."**_

**- o0o -**

"And what about you then?" the Noah said, taking a step towards him, followed by another and yet another. "Where will you eventually end up?"

A bead of sweat ran down Allen's face, but he stood his ground. "Whichever path I may end up walking, it shall be one of my own choosing or none at all."

**- o0o -**

"_**Yes."**_

_New ripples._

**- o0o -**

"Then choose quickly." The Noah advanced another step. "People are getting tired of waiting for you."

Allen closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again. "I think I'll pass for now… but…"

Tyki Mikk paused in his stride, already having closed in on a fair bit of the distance which had lain between them, seemingly waiting for him to go on.

"But…"

Amber eyes shot him a curious glance. "What about those companions of yours?"

Silver-grey eyes returned the look with a flat stare. "What about them?" he questioned. "There are no unnecessary liabilities or nuisances in my path now, so I may proceed in whichever direction I like…"

**- o0o -**

_New ripples._

"_**Liar."**_

_The waters stirred once more._

**- o0o -**

"Hoh. That's cold, even coming from you," Tyki noted. "Considering that you were so defensive of them just a moment ago…"

Allen paid him no heed, putting the finishing touches on the spell he had been working on, hoping dearly that it would accomplish its intended purpose, all while new images flooded into his head, forcing him to pause. A snicker floated into his ears and his head snapped up as he came face to face with a Tyki Mikk that was suddenly way too close. Hand moved to encompass his and he instinctively pulled away, suddenly finding himself with his back against the wall. His eyes widened slightly, then narrowed, and he tensed up noticeably, his hands still glowing slightly even though his focus had been lost as the Noah leisurely advanced on him once more, seemingly intent on cornering him and close to succeeding from the looks of it. Sudden inexplicable terror flooded over him for a moment when he was suddenly as good as trapped against the wall behind him. He wanted to attack; to lash out and break free, but there was something which held him back; something which kept him where he was.

**- o0o -**

_The disembodied voice spoke once more, with a greater deal of conviction._

"_**Allen."**_

_And it was heard._

**- o0o -**

Silver-grey eyes widened in surprise and partial shock.

**- o0o -**

_Another luminescent drop fell into the pool of darkness, rippling the surface and the darkness which had up until then shied away, reached up instead to embrace it._

"_**Don't forget."**_

**- o0o -**

His breathing hitched, earning a momentarily startled look from Tyki Mikk._ No._

**- o0o -**

_Yet another shimmering drop fell down and rippled the surface before it too was embraced by the dark waters below._

"_**You're not alone."**_

**- o0o -**

A familiar hand encompassed his and another tilted his head back slightly. Amber-coloured eyes watched him with a great deal of curiosity and fascination, nearly completely devoid of underlying harmful intent. _No._

He knew he had to break free; he knew he had to get away. It was plain obvious, to his own mind at least, but there was still something there within him which made him pause when he was faced with those eyes – so frighteningly familiar all of a sudden. It hurt.

**- o0o -**

_Another drop, coloured blood-red, fell into the water._

_The water, previously a thick blackness, bled red._

**- o0o -**

It hurt.

There was something running down his cheeks.

It hurt.

It hurt too much to even think.

**- o0o -**

_The waters stirred, and the surface rippled as the disembodied voice rose from it once more._

"_**Allen…"**_

_New ripples spread across the surface as the water bled black once more._

"_**Just because I have chosen to step down from playing one of the main parts in this travesty doesn't mean I won't be able to interfere if I so wish…"**_

_The rippled spread across the surface and echoed out into nothingness, but were again and again replaced by new ones._

"_**I may have stepped off the stage and left a spot for you to fill, but a play needs more than just actors…"**_

**- o0o -**

He screwed his eyes shut as another wave of pain washed over him.

**- o0o -**

_There was a flash of red and amber as the disembodied voice spoke once more with conviction._

"_**I'll lend you my power… my knowledge… my skills… my memories…"**_

**- o0o -**

"…_**But…"**_

**- o0o -**

"_**If you choose embrace them, you can never go back."**_

**- o0o -**


	30. The Thirtieth Testament

…

**- o0o -**

**The Thirtieth Testament**

– **The Final Act, Part III –**

**The Point of No Return**

**- o0o -**

They were calling.

Someone was calling for him, calling out to him.

He turned, the tails of his worn-out coat fluttering around him in a strong gust of a wind blowing past.

Ah, it was them.

He turned away once more and continued walking.

He would continue walking, as he should have done from the very start.

He couldn't stop – not then, not ever.

He shouldn't involve them in this mess any further than he already had.

"_Stop!"_

His body paused in its stride of its own accord, momentarily.

"_Please wait! Allen!"_

He couldn't wait; it was already too late.

The damage had already been dealt; he had already seen the outcome.

"_Don't go!"_

He couldn't; they had nearly caught up to him.

He turned, watching them coldly from his slightly elevated position on top of a small hill.

He retained his silence, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched them approach cautiously.

They were not fearful, yet hesitant and cautious. They sickened him.

"_Will you…"_ he started, and they stilled immediately, looking at him for guidance, with respect and something akin to near-adoration; whatever it was, it was positively nauseating. _"Will you strive… to keep me here in this cage… or is it your wish to follow me out of it?"_

It was a simple question; he didn't care what they would say, because he would move forward regardless.

"_We're so-…"_

Their pleading fell to deaf ears.

He didn't want to hear them; he didn't want to listen.

He turned away from them.

"_You are sheep,"_ he then said, speaking with a sense of finality. _"Sheep should stay true to their pack mentality and follow their shepherd and not the wolf… I am a wolf, not a shepherd, and I shall lead no one. Whether I end up walking down a path of destruction or down a path of salvation has yet to be decided, but it will be a path which will be walked by me alone."_

It was the truth; his truth.

"_Allen, please…"_

Why couldn't they understand?

Why did they have to step forward, ignoring his wishes?

"_Once… no, twice… you asked us to choose whether or not to follow. We have already given our answer…"_

He didn't care. They didn't know what they were getting themselves into; they never did.

"_We have already made our choice; if we must have a leader, then that person will be you."_

He had never asked to lead anyone.

"_We are not sheep, Allen."_

If they were not sheep, then they were certainly fools.

"_If you are a wolf, then so are we; you're the one who took us in and acknowledged us as members of your pack. Besides, I sure as Hell aided your escape, so you're not leaving me behind, you bastard."_

Their words were careless though they appeared to have been spoken with a great deal of conviction; they were misguided and of no use.

He would not be moved by them.

"_You may have been a lone wolf at some point in your life, but you're not alone anymore…"_

He was; he had always been alone.

"_We're in this together!"_

There was never any "we".

Why wouldn't they understand that?

Earnest words; so misguided.

Why wouldn't they see the truth where it lay right in front of them?

She was crying again – subtly – trying to keep her tears back, but doing so in vain.

He could not help but wonder whatever he could have done to inspire such emotion.

"_Once… I was a useless person, but to you, I had some sort of use – you gave me a purpose – and I tried… I tried my very best to do something for you – to repay you for giving me a purpose in life – but I…"_

He said nothing, and another soon stepped forth.

"_Once, I was a miserable and lonesome man. Then, I met Eliade – my beloved – but in the end, we could not coexist… and I destroyed her. I destroyed her, and in doing that I lost my sole purpose to go on living… But then I met you on that train, and your words back then spoke to me and I knew… I just knew…"_

They knew nothing.

The third – the runt – stepped up.

"_Once, I was a brat and I still am, quite frankly. Once, I only strove to get back home – to the orphanage – but then I realised… that they're all probably much happier without me. If I have a place in this world, then that place is by your side… and if it's not by your side, it is right behind you, following the footsteps you've behind."_

Why wouldn't they understand?

Their misguided beliefs served to irritate him to no end.

Why wouldn't they open their eyes?

Why wouldn't they see the truth which lay right in front of them?

He sighed.

Then, he spoke.

"_I have already said it once, but I shall say it again… You are fools, all of you. The person you are chasing is a mirage… He doesn't exist."_

He never did.

Why couldn't they seem to understand that?

She stepped forward again, accompanied by the others.

Their eyes on him; what were they truly looking at?

What kind of person did they see?

There was a hand – thin and frail, but so much stronger than he remembered – brushing against his sternum.

"_But he does… he is right here."_

The palm rested above his heart.

He supposed he should be feeling something, but he isn't.

Such things are beyond him.

Still…

What do they know that he doesn't?

What makes them speak with such conviction?

"_How do you know… for certain?"_

How?

The runt grabbed the fabric of his coat, giving it a tug.

Brown eyes – oddly wise for their age – looked up at him.

"_You once told me… that Joker was you and that you were him, but that you weren't the same… but I think that no matter what has happened to you in the past… and no matter what happens to you in the future… I will stay right here with you."_

Such conviction.

Admirable, but utterly foolish, not to mention pointless.

He smiled.

"_And if Allen were to disappear?"_

The runt just snorted, a hint of a smile on his face.

"_He won't… not as long as we remain by his side."_

The others stepped forward, stepping closer.

"_If there is a will, there is a way… and if there is a way, then we'll find it."_

Honestly… they were incurable.

Why wouldn't they realise?

"_If you must stay by my side, you must realise the consequences of your actions… You are on shaky grounds as it is, and if you follow me here then you will be seen as traitors and tried as heretics by the Order…"_

He shouldn't have cared about their fates; if they deemed themselves capable of making their own decisions, they should also be deemed capable of dealing with the consequences…

The runt snorted again, displaying a fair deal of arrogance.

"_They've got to catch us first."_

Yes, but they still did not realise the full implications of their actions.

They looked ahead, but they didn't look far enough, only seeing what was right in front of them rather than what lurked beyond that.

Why wouldn't they see?

Why wouldn't they see that they were all going to get themselves killed?

"_If you choose to follow me, you'll all be hunted down like cattle either by the Order or by the Earl, and the latter has no reason to keep you alive. If you must choose, then choose now and choose wisely, because beyond this point… there is no going back."_

It was the point of no return.

He had made his choice; there was no more time to linger, no more time to waste.

"_Allen…"_

If they followed, that was their business.

If they got themselves killed, that was their problem.

He had warned them; they hadn't listened.

"_Hah! Let's get going already!"_

All smiles, all happiness.

So sickening…

"_Let's move forward… together."_

It was sickening, because he already knew it would end badly; he had already seen it.

"_Yeah… let's."_

A hand was held out to him and he reached out to take it, tentatively.

Fingertips brushed against fingertips, but there was no warmth; there was nothing.

They crumbled to dust – to dust and ashes – and so did she, mere seconds later.

The others soon followed, and he stood alone where they once stood, watching as their ashes scattered in the wind as it blew past.

Alone.

Like he should have been all along.

Darkness blossomed up beneath him, taking on a humanoid shape.

Before long, a coat-wearing man – strangely reminiscent of Tyki Mikk – stood there.

It was a redhead, familiar yet unfamiliar, watching him closely with eerie amber-coloured eyes, waiting for his next move.

He made none, directing his eyes instead towards the redheaded stranger.

"_Why?"_

A smirk – familiar yet unfamiliar – flashed across the other's face.

The Fourteenth threw a hand out to his side, splaying his fingers as they took on an eerie glow.

The world around them distorted slightly, and then large cracks started appearing.

The glow intensified briefly, and walls – displaying the earlier scenery – shattered and the pieces of them fell down and scattered, revealing the scenery which lay beyond.

It was a familiar sight; it was a type of scenery which he knew by heart.

Dead trees reached for an unattainable crescent.

Scattered graves – it was a world of emptiness.

Blood-red waters showing visions of a ruined future yet to come, of ruins beneath a black crescent, mirroring the luminescent one which could found in the skies.

A hand was held out to him, steadily.

"_**The dream…"**_

Amber-coloured eyes with slit pupils looked at him steadily, unwavering.

"_**Let's end it." **_

Silver-grey eyes eyed the proffered hand.

Then, finally, he reached out to take it.

Bare fingertips brushed against materialised shadow, taking on a greyish tinge.

A jolt ran through him, spreading from them, and the grey spread along with it, up along his arm and beyond.

It was a strange feeling – entirely unlike the one he had experienced earlier when losing control.

It was not pleasurable, but not particularly painful either; it just felt odd.

It was a strangely intense feeling – reminiscent of heat and being licked by flames – but it lacked the elements of pain which he would have associated with it.

It was darkness, power and impressions all mashed up into one.

It was temptation, it was damnation, it was salvation; it was everything.

A part of him had always rejected it, fearful of being controlled and of being consumed.

Another part of him had always relished in it, welcoming it like a second nature.

Though he had never been one to pick sides, conflict had always defined him.

He was an existence caught in the middle, a grey existence in a world of black and white.

Grey…

Slit pupils in a sea of amber looked down at his hands – one gray and the other black – staring at them with something akin to surprise, as though he had never truly seen them before. However, it was a fleeting expression, and it was soon replaced by one of determination.

The grin of the Fourteenth widened in response just as his apparition distorted momentarily, flashing the familiar image of a wryly smiling Red before it faded altogether.

It had just been an afterimage; an unconsciously created mirage originating from his own mind.

The true Fourteenth was still there – just like he had always been – deep within him, always watching.

Because…

In the end… they had always been two halves of a whole.

Because…

When it all came down to it, Allen Walker was a lie; a superficial existence and the result of an inner coping mechanism.

Because…

Closing his eyes briefly, he raised his hand towards the skies, spreading his fingers wide.

He was the result of a redheaded waif's mixture of boredom and curiosity, a travesty – a character – created for the sake of playing along with the delusions of a wandering madman.

His self had been a temporary act which had later on been solidified by fleeting impressions, by momentary affection, by delusions, and by trauma.

He had been born out of an unconscious effort to understand humans, but he still…

He still…

Amber eyes snapped back open, staring intently at the moon.

The dreary scenery surrounding him gradually melted away.

"_**I'll move forward."**_

He would not lose himself to the darkness.

"_**Let's end this."**_

**- o0o -**

Soft footsteps echoed through dark empty corridors as bare feet trod upon cold stone floors, easily sidestepping stray rubble lying in their path before finally coming to a stop before a solid wall which sealed off the route leading forward. He stepped closer, reaching out towards it, placing his palm flat against it. Amber eyes glimmered in the darkness. Lips moved silently, and a glow appeared, spreading to surround his entire being. Then, with a resolute step forward, he phased through the wall before him and emerged on the other side, confirming it was still intact before he once again directed his eyes forward.

Echoes, some more distant than others, resonated within.

Tremors; he could feel them clearly, growing stronger and stronger for each and every step he took.

He picked up his pace a bit, moving past piles of rubble and ashes. The sound of fluttering wings alerted him and his hand shot out on pure reflex, fingers closing in around one of those butterfly golems. He paused momentarily in his stride, giving the struggling thing a stray glance. Amber eyes narrowed, and he tightened his grip around it. _**"Disappear."**_

He let it go and it took to the air, feebly battering its wings once-twice-trice before it suddenly combusted in a violet-tinged black ball of flame, falling to the floor where it lay unmoving as the fire continued to eat it. Unfazed, he moved on.

He could hear the echoes more clearly now, resonating between the walls and inside of him. He was getting closer.

Stray clouds of poisonous gas lingered – trapped in-between sealed off passages – unable to disperse completely, but he stepped through them, unfazed. Soon, he encountered another sealed off passage and he knew; he just knew what awaited him on the other side. The darkness within him stirred, evoking sensations both foreign and familiar to him. It was his Inner Noah, and it was calling for blood, clearly sensing the multiple units of Innocence from beyond the wall. Without a word, he reined it in, focusing the energy towards the wall in front of him instead.

As it crumbled, the noxious gas in the air dispersed some, leaking out into the area beyond the wall. A surprised shout was heard and it was followed by several gasps once the air became clear for a brief moment, revealing his arrival to exorcists and akuma alike. The location was some sort of hall, likely a dining hall, judging from the wrecked pieces of furniture which lay scattered alongside the walls.

"_It's a Noah…"_ one of the akuma said.

"_Lord Noah…"_ another echoed.

"Allen?" They were calling for him, calling out to him.

He paused in his stride – waiting – waiting for something. As for what exactly he was waiting for, he was uncertain. Their eyes were on him – they were all looking at him with a wide range of emotions, some of them condemning, others conflicted. He wondered why he cared, if he cared; he did not know.

Fear, hesitance, caution. The eyes watching him were wary.

A familiar brat opened his mouth – for what, he did not know – but then closed it again. It was enough; it told him all that he needed to know.

He turned away from them, turning to face the akuma instead where they had stilled temporarily, watching him both with a kind of wariness and with reverence. He was alone; the way he had always been.

A sudden wave of malice hit him and he stepped to the side, just in time to avoid a sword aimed to strike at his vitals. It did not faze him, not at all. He dodged another strike, followed by another, followed by yet another. It was far easier to dodge than he remembered; it was as though he could see the path of the blade long before it struck, allowing him to predict the other's moves. Even so, dodging was…

He slammed his hands together, capturing the blade between them. Exclamations of shock were heard, but he paid them no heed, choosing to focus on the blade cutting into both of his palms instead.

Innocence. The sword was Innocence. A part of him wanted to destroy it so badly. It had cut him; it had nearly killed him, and it would likely do so again.

Darkness welled up within him, strengthening his resolve. A crack formed on the blade, and its wielder recoiled, trying to twist it or retract it, an effort which only rewarded him with having it broken. The piece of metal fell down and hit the stone floor with a clank.

Silence. People held their breaths, unmoving – people and akuma alike as he stepped away, putting even more distance between them. "A…llen?"

Fearful eyes. Fear. Suspicion. Distrust.

"_We're in this together!"_

He let out a soft snort. Pretty words only went so far after all. There were choices to be made – for him and for them, and there was no time to waste, no time to linger. It was time; time to move forward.

A soft snicker suddenly erupted in the hall, signalling the arrival of Tyki Mikk. Allen did not turn; he did not need to turn and look to see the other approaching him, smirking, nursing the forming bruise on his jaw.

"_L__ord Noah…"_

"_Lord Tyki Mikk…"_

A soft sigh escaped the teen where he stood. "Wolves shouldn't befriend sheep in the first place, was it?"

A snicker. "Something like that."

An arm draped itself around his shoulder. He was tempted to shrug it off, but didn't, seeing that there was little point to it. The exorcists watched them warily, wearing guarded expressions, keeping their distance all while seemingly ready to attack or defend at a moment's notice.

There was a shift in his surroundings, barely detectable at first, but then it expanded rapidly, taking the form of a black void forming beneath them, expanding rapidly. The only reason he hadn't fallen into it yet was because of the other Noah somehow standing on top of the air itself, keeping him where he was. It was a strange feeling – he would have to admit as much – to have his bare feet dangling just above a void of impenetrable darkness. It was so thick it was reminiscent of liquid – a sea of blackness ready to swallow him at a moment's notice. It was so familiar, so dizzyingly familiar.

"We're withdrawing."

And the world dissolved in an array of colours before blackness swallowed it up completely.

There may have been gasps. There may have been shouts. There may have been outright screams. Then again, they had always been echoing on the inside, resonating within him, so that did not make the slightest bit of difference anyhow. It was all drowned out by the thick blackness.

When initially hit with it, his first reaction was to start struggling. It was an invasive feeling – intrusive – as though it would swallow him up and never let go. There was no air, and he couldn't breathe. He couldn't…

"_**Calm down."**_

Amber eyes snapped back open, just as the darkness ended and rays of blinding light invaded.

Light. Twilight. A sky stained in scarlet, seemingly on fire.

There was a man waiting for them there – a dark-haired man in fanciful clothing, wearing a monocle and a top hat. His appearance was all too familiar…

An image of a smiling madman in a top hat wearing a worn-out suit and coat flashed before his mind's eye for a brief moment, distracting him, and before he knew it and before he was able to do anything about it, the man had already stepped forward, discarding the cane he had been holding onto in favour of pulling him into a tight embrace. Involuntarily, he found himself breathing in the scent of the man's clothing as one hand held him close and the other ran its gloved fingers through his hair. "Welcome back, Fourteenth."

He shivered involuntarily, causing the Earl to momentarily pause in his ministrations. Then, a sigh escaped him, and he allowed himself to relax slightly, exhaustion creeping back in as the arms around him tightened.

_I was never a good person…_

_I don't play by the rules…_

_I kill, I deceive, I steal…_

_I…_

"I'm home."

**- o0o -**

_A translucent drop fell down, disturbing the stillness, spreading rings across the surface._

_Then, the dark waters lay still once more._

**- o0o -**


	31. The Thirty–First Testament

…

**- o0o -**

**The Thirty-First Testament**

– **The Encore –**

**- o0o -**

Three days had come and gone since the attack on the headquarters of the Asian Branch. Three days of making an inventory of the experienced losses, both in terms of equipment and in terms of human lives. Three days of treating the injured, of arranging cremations, of cleaning up rubble and of working their way back towards a state of reasonable normalcy. It had been hard on all of them, though some had certainly suffered more than others.

Bak Chan, the esteemed leader of the Asian Branch, heaved a heavy sigh where he sat in a room full of monitors, going through whichever surveillance footage could be salvaged from the incident. Behind him stood his ever faithful Sammo Han Wong, watching him with a fair deal of concern, as the branch leader had not really slept at all these last couple of days, constantly on edge for a possible second attack now that their defences had yet to recover. "Lord Bak?"

Bak Chan was a man of notable intellect. A genius even, according to himself. As such, it was only natural for him to be one of the first ones catching onto the fact that there was something odd about it all, something distinctly out of place. Destruction and other grievances aside, his attention kept returning to the oddity which had invaded their halls and then left them just as suddenly. Allen Walker, a Noah with Innocence. Blond eyebrows furrowed in concentration. "There's something… something we're missing out on here."

Initially, curiosity had driven him to investigate the teen and his companions further, even more so when they were first brought in. He himself had been present when Allen Walker had been brought in on a stretcher carried by a pair of grim-looking exorcists, blood leaking sluggishly from beneath layers and layers of makeshift bandages. The whiteness of his hair had been startling in itself, but it was no more startling to him than the realisation that the boy was still alive, chest rising and falling to the rhythm of his barely noticeable respiration. The wound dealt to his stomach should have been fatal, more so because it had been inflicted by a sword containing Innocence. Still, there he was, dead to the world yet still alive, an anomaly; an enigma. The mystery only deepened at the sight of said Noah's obviously distressed companions, accommodators of Innocence no less. Truly, what was the world coming to?

Even so, his curiosity had been piqued and even more so when it became apparent that Allen Walker's life had been saved by nothing other than his own Innocence, as they had found fragments of it imbedded in his wound, plastered over vital organs and bigger blood vessels to prevent him from bleeding out completely. Truly, it was peculiar, as though the Innocence displayed a will of its own, a will which seemed to entail that the teen had to live. That last part had certainly raised warning flags in Bak's mind and he doubted he was the only one. An Innocence with a clear will and an ability to act of its own accord; wasn't that an indication that it could possibly be the Heart? If so, then fate was certainly a cruel mistress, bestowing what would seem to be a fated enemy of the Order with the one thing the Earl was out to destroy. Truly, a cruel fate awaited Allen Walker, regardless of which side he allied himself with, and Bak had reasoned that it was probably the reason as to why the teen had chosen not to ally himself with either.

A Noah and fated enemy of the Order or not, Bak had not approved when it had been decided that they should keep him down in the dungeon, but he felt himself forced to comply on the demand that it was for everyone's safety and whatnot, even though his intuition had told him otherwise. As he came to discover, this was an opinion shared by Allen Walker's companions as well, of which the child was the most vocal about it. Fascinated, he had sought to uncover the mystery with the help of their experience, and through them he only found himself more and more conflicted about the whole matter.

To Allen Walker's companions, the teen was their saviour; that was probably the most accurate way to put it. To them, he was an existence equivalent to the sun, and though he had seemingly happened upon them all by pure coincidence, they – at least Miranda Lotto and Aleister Crowley – seemed to be under the impression that his appearance in their lives had been crucial and that the words he had left them with had been of vital importance to them choosing to follow him. To be able to inspire such loyalty in virtual strangers from the very start; was it truly possible? It had puzzled him greatly, and like the scientist he was, he set out to find out just who this Allen Walker was.

His meeting with Red – Allen Walker's supposed alter-ego – had served to clear some things up, just as it had served to bring about new doubts within him. He was still unsure about the exact way the two interacted, but from what he had been able to tell, neither qualified as sadistic murderers, as one would normally classify most members of the Noah family. More so, there was no actual resentment from either of them, even though at least Red had displayed knowledge of the fact that Central was coming for him. Of course, there was logic and regular common sense to take into consideration, however, Red had also displayed other signs of being very much aware of a great deal of things which were taking place on the outside even without having any sort of contact with it. From the surveillance footage, both Bak himself and others on duty had witnessed him seemingly falling unconscious numerous times and remain unmoving before suddenly speaking softly out of the blue, words that taken out of context would have seemed like complete nonsense. However, Bak had cross-checked with the other surveillance feeds and found something very curious.

They matched. Timothy Hearst's valiant attempt to convince the exorcists to let him see Allen had earned a snort of disbelief from said individual, as though the latter had been listening in on what had been said. However, Timothy Heart himself did not appear to have noticed this, indicating that it was a one-way communication, with Allen Walker hearing them but not vice versa.

That matter aside, there was also the one involving the strange occurrences taking place mostly at night-time, where Allen Walker – or was it Red? – would suddenly wake up, seemingly panic for a bit before settling down, reciting verses in some foreign language over and over, surrounding himself with an eerie glow. Red could also be witnessed talking, addressing Allen, indicating that there was some sort of communication going on between them. There was also him uttering an occasional word when seemingly out of it otherwise, indicating that he was possibly communicating with someone even beyond that. Was it telepathy, or was it something else? It could probably just be an ability that came with being a Noah, but Bak didn't know, and that worried him.

Even so, the other's possible abilities aside, there was a piece missing to the puzzle, a vital piece which seemed required in order to see the big picture.

He looked up, his eyes determined. "Check and see if the footage from the holding cell can be salvaged."

Wong bowed. "Understood."

**- o0o -**

Though largely damaged by whatever had taken place in there during the crucial hour of the attack, a great deal of the surveillance equipment was still reasonably functional, to Bak's endless surprise and partial delight. Though perhaps calling it delight would've been inappropriate, seeing that the footage adhered from a point in time where the fighting and the killings were taking place elsewhere. Even so, aware of the fact that the recordings could still hold valuable information about not only the fate of Allen Walker but also about the other Noah who was likely the one leading the attack, Bak had them retrieved for himself to view them. It did not take long before his eyes widened momentarily in something akin to shock. "This is…?"

"Oh dear…" Wong mumbled, watching the video feed as well, looking on as the other Noah appeared from the wall itself and seized the newly freed white-haired teen by the throat, capturing his wrists and forcing them together in the same movement. It was followed by a struggle, but it was brief and cut short as the unfamiliar Noah tightened his grip around the other's throat, seemingly cutting off his flow of air. The teen's movements gradually grew sluggish before his struggling ceased completely, indicating the loss of consciousness. The grip seemingly eased up then, but as soon as it did, Allen Walker's Innocence activated. The images distorted momentarily, and once they had cleared up a bit, they could see a masked Allen Walker surrounded by his Innocence at one end of the cell and the Noah at the other, watching each other warily. Then, after a few more seconds, Allen's posture faltered slightly and he sagged momentarily against the wall behind him, bringing a hand to his head before looking up and about, seemingly unaware as to how he got there in the first place.

No way. "The Innocence protects him… of its own accord?" Bak found himself repeating, seeing his earlier theory confirmed. "But that means…"

Wong said nothing as Bak frowned openly. "The audio? Is it working?"

The image displayed showed Allen Walker ready to attack, but still exchanging words with his foe.

"…Unfortunately not," Wong responded after a moment.

Bak's frown deepened. "…What are they talking about?"

He looked on as the other Noah approached, all while Allen Walker seemingly tensed but otherwise did not move before suddenly attacking. He watched as they fought, and he found himself cringing inwardly when he watched Allen Walker get slammed into a wall, following which he collapsed momentarily before once again staggering to his feet, ready to resume the fight, even as the other released some sort of strange butterflies – the same ones that had later attacked Allen Walker's companions – before seemingly summoning two akuma to his side, saying some words before those too disappeared somewhere. Regardless of whatever the other had said, Allen Walker responded in force and planted his foot in the other's face, did a back flip and then proceeded to threaten him from the looks of it, only to have the other Noah erupt in laughter before presenting a hand to him. Whichever offer was made, it was rejected and Bak found himself even more fascinated at the sight of Allen Walker suddenly engaging in some serious spell work; up until then, he – and probably just about anyone else – would have been positive that Allen Walker was incapable of such, yet there he was, clearly capable of magic in his own right, though a hinted awkwardness to his hand movements revealed that he was not very used to it.

Even so, the surprising feat aside, Bak continued watching as the other Noah began stepping closer, still talking, steadily backing him up against a wall. The teen tried to pull away, tensing. Bak once again couldn't help but wonder what the other Noah could possibly be saying, especially so when he caught sight of Allen's eyes widening in shock, startled by something, and his curiosity only grew when the other Noah displayed a fair deal of surprise as well even as he seized the other's hand and used his other hand to force the teen's head up, clearly studying him. There was clearly something going on there, something which didn't quite transfer onto the footage but still took place, but what?

He gained his answer soon enough, as the eerily still teenager in the footage started screaming and thrashing about all while being restrained by the other Noah. The images distorted again, and before long, the screen blackened completely for a while before it came back on, displaying grainy footage of the cell. However, by then, both of them were gone, leaving Bak to stare at empty footage, a grim expression entering his face.

"Oh dear…" Wong repeated, shuffling the papers he had at hand.

Bak Chan heaved a sigh, massaging his temples. There was still something off; there was still something missing…

Then, it hit him. He looked up. "Wong," he said, looking at his trusted subordinate. "Bring me Timothy Hearst. Preferably immediately."

A bow answered him, and he turned his attention back to the replaying images, his eyes narrowing. _What on earth…?_

Outside, the wind picked up, blowing with new ferocity.

A storm was drawing closer.

**- o0o -**

A gloved hand at his throat, fingers wrapping around it, squeezing...

Dread.

The cold muzzle of a gun pressing against his temple, accompanied by a voice filled with disdain…

"_Who are you?"_

He stilled suddenly, abandoning his struggles temporarily, startled by the question.

…_Who are you?_

The scenery gradually bled black.

**- o0o -**

"_What's your name, kid?"_

He turned, coming face to face with a red-haired man in black clothing.

A priest?

No.

Eyes were watching him, sharp, cold.

They put him on edge.

He took a step backwards, weighing his options.

"_Are you Allen?"_

No. Wrong. He is not Allen; Allen was a dog, and Allen was dead. _"No."_

"…_Don't get too close to Mana."_

Gone, swallowed up by the crowd.

He shivered, then looked to the clown where he stood a bit further away, passing out flyers. _That's Mana?_

He paused. _But who…?_

Just another madman, his mind broken by grief.

A child, locked inside the body of a middle-aged man.

_A child…_

Silver-grey eyes narrowed.

_A child…_

He reached out to take the hand as it was offered to him.

_A child…_

**- o0o -**

He was a drifter. He had always been one, drifting to and fro; always on the move, never getting attached to anything.

He had taught himself not to become attached, because nothing good ever came out of such experiences anyway and it was a lesson he had learned the hard way – repeatedly – as attachments were fickle and fragile, founded upon conceived notions of shallow affection.

He did not need love and neither did he need other sorts of affection; such fickle emotions were beyond him; beneath him. He was a solitary existence; he did not need them and preferred not to be involved in them in any kind of manner.

However, in an act of foolishness, he had once sought to understand, sought to comprehend just what made the humans human, and that simple act of misguided curiosity had been his undoing…

The smiling clown.

Amber eyes, watching him with a deep-lying sadness hiding beneath a layer of curiosity.

"_Who are you?"_

A strange, swaying sensation. The sensation of being carried on someone's back.

"_Put me down!"_

A warm coat, wrapped around him.

His mind reeling, wondering what on earth the madman was up to.

"_Are you cold?"_

He stared at the man in pure disbelief.

"_Are you warmer now?"_

What?

Why?

"_What are you doing?"_

It was too much. The sudden warmth, the seeming concern, the unexpected display of kindness. It was just… he couldn't…

Those eyes, those hands; so tender, so filled with kindness.

They had been his undoing, and for whatever reason, he had played along with the delusions of the wandering madman, creating a character – a mockery of his true self – a reflection of what he could have been, had things turned out a bit differently.

The self-imposed image – the mask – fit him so well he almost forgot he was wearing it in the first place, and he lived the life of Allen as though it was the only one he had ever known, and as Allen he came to see and experience many things and through fleeting impressions and conceived notions of affection, he eventually found himself not only humouring the madman's delusions; he found himself living them, gradually forgetting about the fact that he was a performing actor on stage with the madman as his fellow actor and the rest of the world as their unwilling audience.

However, time and time again, incidents occurred, preventing him from fully losing sight of himself.

Fleeting impressions.

A gloved hand at his throat, fingers wrapping around it, squeezing...

Dread.

The cold muzzle of a gun pressing against his temple, accompanied by a voice filled with disdain…

"_Who are you?"_

_Who? Who am I?_

Fleeting impressions.

_You are… who are you?_

_**I am…**_

**- o0o -**

Fleeting impressions.

A boy standing before a freshly dug grave, watching as a simple coffin was being lowered into it.

Watching, waiting, looking on as the hole was filled and covered with dirt.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Ashes to ashes…

Silver-grey eyes slid closed momentarily, but they remained dry.

Grieving was pointless, because death was inevitable.

Even so, why did his chest hurt so much?

Silver-grey eyes stared impassively at the grey skies hanging above.

_If there'll only be pain…_

If there'd be only pain, it was better not to feel; it was better not to feel anything at all.

His heart was closed.

No.

He didn't have a heart to begin with; he didn't feel anything.

Along the way, he had become twisted.

No, he had been that way from the start.

He was not human.

He was…

**- o0o -**

"_Are you Allen?"_

He turned, coming face to face with Road Camelot where she stood.

"_Does it matter?"_

She shifted, retaining her silence.

In return, he said nothing, turning away to watch as his memories continued to play themselves out before him.

He would have settled for ignoring her longer if he had not felt her hand on his arm and he turned once more to face her.

"_What?"_

Amber eyes watched him with a strange kind of sadness and the hand on his arm slid down to grasp his hand instead.

"_Allen…"_ she said, encompassing his hand in both of hers. _"The Duke is getting really worried about you."_

He suppressed a snort, especially so as the hands tightened their grip on his hand.

He closed his eyes briefly before opening them again.

Then, he took a step forward and she followed, retaining her grip on his hand.

The unexpected clinginess was mildly unnerving, but then again, he had enough things on his mind already to care much for such things.

They were suddenly at the lakeside cemetery, and he tore himself loose to climb up one of the numerous dead trees that riddled it.

Once he was up, he held a hand out towards her, to her seeming surprise, but she took it with little hesitation and had soon taken a seat next to him on the branch, overlooking the dreary landscape below.

"_Why is it?"_ Road asked after a while, dangling her legs. _"Why won't you go back?"_

Allen said nothing, surveying the scenery with a kind of dull interest bordering on disinterest.

He shifted.

"_I think that I still have some things I need to resolve… as Red."_

"_How so?"_ she questioned, tilting her head to the side.

He shrugged mildly.

"_It's difficult to put it into words."_

"_Try,"_ she insisted and he sighed in response, pulling one knee close and leaning onto it.

"_I could tell you a story."_

She tilted her head mildly to the side again.

"_Will it have a happy ending?"_

He shook his head.

"_I doubt it."_

**- o0o -**


	32. The Thirty–Second Testament

…

**- o0o -**

**The Thirty-Second Testament**

– **The Love for the Last**** –**

**- o0o -**

"_Allen?"_

**- o0o -**

"_Are you Allen?"_

**- o0o -**

Silver-grey eyes stared down into the pool of red, watching the shadowy reflection moving about beneath.

Grinning, always.

He bent down, picking up a handful of pebbles from the ground.

He threw them.

The reflections in the waters distorted momentarily before once again returning to their original shape.

The shadow shifted again, reaching out towards him.

He did not turn away, but he did not reach for it either, not even as the ripples had echoed out into seeming nothingness.

"_Allen…"_

Silver-grey eyes narrowed, taking on another hue as greyness spread across his skin.

"_The real question is… who is Allen?"_

She – Road Camelot – stood next to him, watching.

She reached out, grasping his hand.

"_But who is Allen?"_

She paused, looking towards the waters below.

"_What's his story?"_

He closed his eyes.

The image of the white-haired teenager beside her distorted and she let go of him, as though she had been burned.

Once the image grew clearer, it was a younger Allen who stood before her, his hair a stark white and a striking contrast to rest of their surroundings.

He stepped forward, in that one step he ended up losing yet another couple of years, and once the sole of his bare foot impacted on the surface, all the whiteness disappeared, giving way to rusty redness.

Red turned to face her, his face indifferent even though his eyes shone with an uncanny clarity and something akin to mischievousness.

The scenery around him changed once more, morphing into that of a familiar circus.

Shadowy images of performers moved past them, remaining oblivious to the pair's presence as they went through their routines.

Red looked up, silver-grey eyes shimmering.

"_Once,"_ he said. _"Once, I was a child without a name and without a past, with a deformed arm and no memories to speak of. I did not want to live all empty on the inside, so as time went along, I created my own memories…"_

The scenery around them changed once more, shadowy shapes illustrating his words.

"_In one version, I was a child who'd run away from an orphanage in London,"_ he began. _"In another, my parents or guardians or whatnot – unable to stand my deformity – sold me to the circus."_

There was a shadowy clown in the background, performing tricks.

There was also the shadow of a fat man – a Ringmaster – in a corner counting coins.

"_The latter is probably the truest, all things considered,"_ Red eventually admitted. _"I was a freak and I was bought. Human life; it's a surprisingly cheap thing when it all comes down to it. However… my life was not theirs to bargain with."_

The scenery surrounding them darkened, and so did the atmosphere.

"_Because I initially refused to play along with this game of theirs, I was deemed worthless and made to disappear,"_ Red continued, shifting, walking in-between the humanlike shapes as they rehearsed, moving right through those which stood in his way, causing them to dissolve into wisps of smoke. _"I decided…"_ he began, pausing, turning away and then turning to face her once more, his face solemn. _"I decided that if they didn't want to see me; if they would not look me in the eye… if they wanted to pretend that I was not there, I'd do them the favour and disappear. After all, it was not like I ever wanted to be there to begin with…"_

Amber eyes looked at him with something akin to pity.

The child snorted in response.

"_I'm not sad,"_ he said. _"To be sad, you need to have a heart to begin with."_

He paused briefly, closing his eyes before speaking once more.

"_I decided… that if all I'd ever feel was alternating states of anger, sadness, and hate, then I'd rather not feel anything at all…"_

He brought his left hand up towards the imaginary skies, his fingers splayed wide as he looked up towards them.

"_At first, I couldn't move my left hand much; barely at all,"_ he began. _"However, as time went on, it became more nimble…"_

Road said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

"_As strange as it may sound, it was mostly Cosimo's doing,"_ Red finally admitted, his hand forming into a fist as he lowered it. _"It was purely unintentional on his part; he simply couldn't stand me for some reason and beat me up when given the opportunity…"_

He paused again and their surroundings grew even darker as the sounds of imagined thunder rumbled on in the distance.

"_Thanks to him, I was able to hate. Or rather, I was able to feel something other than mere indifference towards the world,"_ Red said, his face indifferent and his voice frank. _"In me, his actions bred contempt, and oddly enough, contempt nourished the mobility of this left arm of mine. Innocence reacts to emotions – the stronger the emotion, the better."_

"_The other performers allowed Cosimo to do as he liked with me,"_ he went on, shrugging mildly. _"As a waif, I was free to use, to abuse and to ignore. They decided that I didn't matter, so I decided they didn't matter either…"_

Slowly but certainly, the dreary scenery and heavy atmosphere around them grew lighter, though Red himself showed no reaction to it, remaining wistful.

"_Because I initially refused to perform on stage, the Ringmaster decided that I was worthless,"_ he said. _"Then again, I can't say that I ever wanted to be of much use to the man. I wanted freedom, but knew better than to just run off since a part of me knew that I would probably just end up being brought back and punished anyway, and in case I did make it far enough, I probably wouldn't have ended up any better off anyhow. My youth prevented me from claiming my independence, but in the end, that was probably an excuse as well. I didn't know what would come next if I went away, so I bided my time instead, waiting. I can't say I was aware of who or what I was waiting for, but once Mana came around… No, once Mana and Allen came around, I suppose…"_

Indifference temporarily gave room for fondness – a sense of longing intermingling with deep-seated contempt, however odd a combination it might've seemed.

There was a man on a circus stage before them – a clown, performing tricks with his dog to the sounds of joyous laughter in the background which gradually faded until they were surrounded by silence once more, and only then did Red speak up again.

"_They were so lively; so full of life, so bright,"_ he said, turning his back to the images all while closing his eyes. _"Their shared love; I couldn't stand it. It made me sick on the inside. I tried to get away from it; I tried to distance myself from them and to avert my eyes from it, but…"_ he paused, turning back to the shadowy shapes, his eyes taking in every detail as the shadows gradually grew more solid and took on a whole array of colours before there was a real clown there, a real clown and his canine companion. _"I saw, and I couldn't look away."_

Arms surrounded him then, hugging him from behind.

He startled momentarily before stilling, and then finally his hands set about to pry the offending appendages off of him.

In response, Road Camelot just tightened her grip, burying her face in the crook of the redheaded boy's neck.

The mask of indifference was back in a second, along with a fair deal of annoyance.

"_Let go,"_ he demanded softly, extremely uncomfortable at the other's proximity but hiding it well.

Her only response was to tighten her grip even further.

His ire only grew.

"_Let go,"_ he demanded, his tone harsher this time around, but the other proved relentless.

"_It's okay."_

A hand came up, its fingers running along the back of his head, smoothening red hair as it gradually drained of its colour.

"_It's okay."_

The illusions around them shattered to pieces, scattering and raining down upon them like fine particles of grey dust.

"_Allen…"_

He was back, in the shape of himself, yet the fleeting impressions of the other clung to him just as clearly as Road did, even though he in his teenage form was more than a head taller than her.

"_It's okay…"_

Silver-grey eyes bled amber, narrowing.

Contrary to the delusions of others, he was his own master.

If he could not be his own master, there was really no point of his existence.

Ruling over others was no interest of his, but being ruled by others interested him even less.

"_You…"_

He dislodged himself from her arms, taking a step backwards.

"_No…"_

Amber met amber.

"_I'm sorry."_

He turned away.

"_Allen?"_

**- o0o -**

Brown eyes snapped wide open as he inhaled sharply. He sat up suddenly, dizzy and momentarily disoriented, looking about without quite comprehending the reason for his change in surroundings, all while a foreign presence and foreign emotions belonging to it lingered. At his bedside was the vague impression of the humanoid shape of his Innocence – Tsukikami – watching him with keen interest.

"_Good afternoon,"_ Tsukikami – in the form of his imagined older self – greeted. He acknowledged the greeting with a slight nod before he set about to massage his forehead, trying to recall his latest memories to provide some sort of context for the situation, only for them to escape him. Then, suddenly, there was a soft knock on the door – a solid oak door from the looks of it – and he immediately recalled the basics of the situation at hand, rubbing his eyes while he was at it.

"Timothy?" a timid-sounding voice inquired.

He snorted softly in response, swinging his legs over the side of the bed – or the bunk, of one saw the need to nitpick. The new and heavy clothing clung to him, heavy both in a physical sense as well as in other ways. It was a uniform, and he was a soldier – a child soldier – who had recently been drafted into an unholy war going under the pretence of being holy.

"Timothy?" the voice inquired yet again, and the handle turned slightly.

He exchanged a short look with Tsukikami before the latter vanished, leaving him alone to face the annoyingly concerned visage of Lenalee Lee as she stood in the door to the captain's cabin, watching him. "Are you still feeling ill?"

He didn't respond, directing his eyes downwards to study the carpet-covered floor of the cabin, his ears taking in the ever present sound of the sea. The salty smell of it constantly invaded his nostrils, and with the ship's movements as it was tossed back and forth because of the occasional roughness of the waves crashing against its keel, it became positively nauseating. However, due to his lack of response, it was not long before a concerned pair of violet eyes – he had never actually noticed they were violet; he had always reasoned they were either black or dark brown – invaded his line of vision, clearly studying him. A hand – unbelievably smooth – placed itself on his brow, brushing away sweaty locks from his forehead. Startled, he swatted it away immediately – unwilling to let it come into contact with the jewel imbedded in his forehead; enough people had already prodded that one lately, and he had nearly bitten a few people's hands off for good measure before the leader of the Asian Branch, the one named Bak Chan, had him summoned and brought away from the hands of prodding scientists and other people who were far too curious for their own good. "Timothy?"

The offending hand came back and he actually snatched it, keeping it well away from his face, levelling its owner with a glare. "Go away."

"But…"

He retained his grip, even though he would much rather let go of it, as though it had been an appendage belonging to a leper. "Leave," he said, cutting off her protests and letting go of the hand so that he could shove it looked hurt then, retracting the hand and taking a step back before turning on her heel and making her way to the door, opening it. "Are you sure you're…?"

He felt oddly tempted to make an obscene gesture at her, but refrained from doing so. He cradled his aching head in his hands instead, wondering where on earth his bandana had gone off to.

Right, if memory served him right, it had been sliced in two fairly recently in one of his scuffles with that grumpy-ass sword-waving freak. Shame.

As if responding to his thoughts, the Bookman apprentice chose that moment to come waltzing in, twirling that selfsame piece of cloth around his finger. "Yo," he greeted amiably, presenting him with the headband as though it was some sort of peace offering; Timothy snatched it back without a word, sending him a none-too-friendly glance. "That Miranda chick mended it for you, and asked me to turn it over."

The _'because she is unable to do so herself'_ was left hanging in the air, but neither missed it. Timothy stiffened briefly in response before his unfriendly glance hardened to an outright glare. "Why thank you," he gritted out, his voice dripping with sarcasm; at least that's what he thought it was, and if the slight twitch in the apprentice's face was any indication, it had brought the intended message across, because truly, he had very little to be thankful for – especially if one took the most recent events into consideration.

They had been separated, likely since those bastards had realised there was an overhanging risk that they would run off once the person which had kept them there and kept them together – Allen – had vanished, whisked away by minions of the Earl, leaving them to their respective fates. It should have made him feel betrayed, really; it should have made him bitter and angry, yet the only thing he was truly bitter about was that the four of them were no longer together, no longer united against the outside forces of a hostile environment. Truly, he should have felt betrayed; he should have been angry, especially so with Allen, for leaving them all behind. Still, he found himself incapable it. Instead of hatred and anger, frustration had arisen. However grudgingly, Timothy had been forced to admit that though he could not agree with the other's choices, he still silently acknowledged that Allen had had his reasons.

A flash of red filled his vision momentarily, and he was immediately reminded of the dream before he forced it back into the recesses of his consciousness, focusing instead on the single emerald eye studying him curiously. He startled, experiencing a distinct feeling of déjà vu, cursing inwardly. The redhead watching him pulled back slightly, tilting his head to the side in question. "You okay, Timmy?"

That accursed nickname; he twitched noticeably.

"You've done what you came to do, haven't you?" he growled, his patience since long spent. "Scram. Your face pisses me off."

A momentary look of surprise graced the other's features – courtesy of his slightly uncharacteristic outburst, no doubt – but it was soon replaced by a mischievous grin. A hand shot out to give his hair a good-natured ruffle. "You've been spending far too much time with Yu lately, kiddo."

He bristled and then he did the first thing which came to mind; he seized the offending appendage and dug his teeth into it, earning himself a pained shout in response. Truly, even Cross – though he had been a lousy guardian by virtually any standards and not fit to be something akin to a parent by any means – had been adamant about hammering a single principle into him, a principle which applied above all others. Timothy however, being the child that he was, had said farewell to the man's teachings a long time ago.

_Don't bite the hand that feeds you?_, he thought, biting down harder._ Bah._

He would rather starve.

**- o0o -**

A snort, followed by another, gradually morphed into laughter.

She leant in curiously, amber eyes watching him curiously.

"_Something's funny?"_

The laughter ceased, but a smirk remained as proof of his undying amusement.

"_Incredibly,"_ he then noted, his voice dry. _"Unbelievably."_

**- o0o -**

Elsewhere, a woman with red-rimmed eyes looked up in surprise as the sound of echoing laughter reached her ears.

**- o0o -**

In another place, a man paused in his stride, keen senses picking up on the echoing laughter as well.

**- o0o -**

In yet another place – a dimly lit office – another man startled.

**- o0o -**

"_Allen?"_

**- o0o -**

The surface rippled once more, rings spreading across it.

**- o0o -**


	33. The Thirty–Third Testament

…

**- o0o -**

**The Thirty-Third Testament**

**The Spectre in the Fog**

**- o0o -**

Another day had come to an end, joining one of many. He did not know for certain how many days he had spent out there on the open sea, but it had already been far too many. Night had come, and with it a strange sense of calmness had fallen upon his immediate surroundings where they had cast their anchor.

"_There is almost no wind,"_ Tsukikami noted, his halfway transparent self materialising beside him where he sat up on the railing, looking out at a seemingly endless sea of blackness all while Timcanpy fluttered restlessly above their heads.

"I know," Timothy answered, tilting his head back to inhale the somewhat chilly night air. Out of the corner of his eye, he looked at the sails where they hung lifeless in the pale lights from lanterns suspended up in the masts and scattered around the deck.

The lack of wind was what had halted them and made them cast their anchor several hours previous. It was as though higher powers sought to keep them there, out on the open sea; to stall them. Out in the open, they were vulnerable to attack, though those harebrained Black Order members seemed oblivious to the fact. It was either that or them wilfully suppressing the notion so that they could go on living their carefree lives for a little longer, at least up until the point of a possible assault. Of all utterly foolish notions of utter foolishness…

He cursed inwardly, cursing whichever fool – whichever higher-up in the Black Order – had approved of such a harebrained scheme – going after Cross Marian? To Edo? Right into the Earl's stronghold and likely waiting trap? With such a minor force?

Then again, it wasn't like he was completely adverse to the thought of going to Edo, for obvious reasons. However, those did not involve hunting down his former Master, though they did certainly involve hunting down someone else and punching them in the face for good measure.

_He's in Edo_, he thought. _He has to be._

Edo was the Earl's stronghold. The Noah clan served the Earl. Allen was a Noah. The Earl wanted him by his side.

_"The Earl's orders are absolute."_

The words echoed within him, and he recalled that he had once questioned their intent, along with their content. He had spent part of his life with Cross; he didn't believe in the absolute.

The words triggered a memory and an image of Allen – sitting on that rooftop back in India – entered his head, and he found himself recalling the other's distant gaze, directed towards things others could not see. Back then, they had confronted him on his extensive knowledge about the Earl and his cohorts, only to have him reveal that they knew much more about him than he did about them. The Earl had even sent people after him before, but not with the intention of attacking, but rather with the intention of watching. The Earl had seen something in him – potential, perhaps – and Allen had looked back – watching those watching him – before turning his back to them, hurrying his steps along, his eyes directed on something unseen – on something far ahead. The Earl knew Allen was different, and Allen knew that the Earl knew.

A lone wolf, even in the company of others. Distant. Detached. Distrustful. Ready to attack or defend at a moment's notice, most of the time. Haunted… and hunted.

A natural leader, uninterested in ordering others around. Observant. Patient. Helpful. Kindness, hiding beneath a cold exterior.

Intelligent. Skilled. Powerful.

Timothy recalled that time back in India, where Allen had stepped forth where others had run, prompting a small herd of rampaging elephants to halt with his mere presence and some vague hand gesture. Large beasts, skidding to a halt before a mere human, subdued up until the point when the force of that blast had shattered whichever influence Allen had had over them, leaving him on the ground in a rapidly growing pool of dark red all while the world suddenly came to a stop before rushing forward once more. Timothy remembered screaming, held back as he was, unable to do anything but watch as the other got trampled. That's how things should have ended anyhow, logically, but they did not. Instead, a complete stranger had dived into the fray within moments, and emerged just as quickly – miraculously – with their heavily wounded leader in his arms, before swiftly whisking him away to someone nearby, the latter bowing subserviently before treating the bleeding wound with a great deal of urgency, all while they had stood frozen, even after the rampaging elephants had disappeared. Shock had paralysed them, and they had only snapped out of it when the stranger moved to pick up their leader anew and made a motion to follow the doctor, clearly intent on leaving them behind. Shock had been replaced by panic, causing him to break into a sprint.

"_Hey! Wait!"_

Ignored. Left behind. An utterly dreadful feeling.

The stranger had not even paused when he had run up alongside him, and only then had he been awarded with a momentary glance. A pair of oddly-coloured eyes – he had not thought much about it then, with his head being full of so many thoughts and feelings – had levelled him with a short look before once again disappearing behind an array of dishevelled raven locks.

Back then, he had not made the connection. Surely, he had thought of the colour as unusual, but back then he had not come to associate it to anything in particular, not until later on, when eyes of a similar hue had stared at him instead of the ones that were him so familiar, staring into his very soul.

Silver-grey eyes, looking far ahead into the distance, seeing things past and yet to come.

Amber-coloured eyes, looking straight at them. Unwavering.

_"I'm running out of time…"_

Allen knew; Allen had known all along about the fate which awaited him. They had promised to stay by his side, only to be told that they should not make promises they could not keep, and when they had insisted, he had called them fools. He had been right; he had been right all along. When he would have needed them the most, they had failed to rise to the challenge.

A familiar face in an unfamiliar hue, with the scar standing out even more than previously, an eternal reminder engraved on his face. An inerasable proof of his existence, making sure he would never forget, that he would never forget who he really was, underneath it all. But who was he, really? He claimed not to know for himself. Or perhaps he did know, and just wasn't all that keen on telling.

It didn't matter. He was Allen; regardless of what he called himself, he was still Allen, underneath it all. He had to be. He was still Allen; even with the amber eyes looking back at him the last time he had seen the other, it had still been Allen who had been looking back at him. He knew the difference; it hadn't been Red.

The voices of akuma, echoing.

"_Lord Noah…"_

Even if it was a Noah, it was still Allen. He had appeared before them, but for what purpose?

He had looked at them, and then turned away from them. There had been no anger, no resentment; just a tad of relief alongside the slightest bit of wistfulness, both carefully hidden beneath a thick layer of indifference. Not even when a sword came down to strike him did he seem fazed. He had made no move to attack them, and when attacked, he had only defended himself. Yet, others – exorcists, scientists, Black Order folk – had viewed him as though he was some sort of crazed beast ready to devour them without warning. In hindsight, it was an utterly ridiculous notion, and judging from the way Allen had snorted softly, stepping away from them, he had found it quite ridiculous as well. Then, that other Noah had appeared, eerily familiar, and in the exchange which followed, Allen's words – the last ones he had left them – had echoed against the walls in the deathly silence.

_"Wolves shouldn't befriend sheep in the first place, was it?"_

Words, spoken with a great deal of familiarity. A calm response to an earlier statement.

Wolves. Predators. Sheep. Prey. The metaphor had not been lost on them. It was not a very flattering one, but it did hold at least some amount of truth in it, though it was hurtful to admit, just as it was hurtful for Timothy to admit to himself that he had not attempted to call him back; that he had not called out to him and instead just stood there in silence, unable to do anything more than watch as the other had been spirited away to god-knows-where, swallowed up by a pool of darkness. Darkness…

Brown eyes focused back on the dark waters below.

Darkness…

He turned slightly, his gaze travelling across the deck, watching the sleeping members of the crew with a fair bit of distaste, taking note of the fact that no one seemed awake and about besides him. Then again, the lights visible from beneath the door to the captain's cabin told another story altogether, though he was content as long as there was no one out there to bother him. Even though still loneliness ached in him on more than one occasion, he didn't want company; he missed the others, but he wanted no other companions, and after a fair bit of hostility on his end, the message had gone through to his newest set of "comrades". They left him alone now, on occasion, seemingly content with the thought that they were out on the open sea and that he therefore wouldn't be able to go anywhere anyhow.

Truly, part of him did want to prove them wrong so badly. Truly, part of him wanted little more than to steal one of the lifeboats and possibly even the body of one of the crewmen along the way, but doing so would have been meaningless; the ship's destination was Edo, and Edo was also his own chosen destination, and the sooner he got there, the better.

A slight breeze blew past, and he looked up in surprise, right in time to spot a great deal of fog drifting towards them. _What?_

**- o0o -**

New ripples spread across the surface, leaving echoes in their wake.

Amber-coloured eyes snapped open.

He lifted his head.

"_**Go."**_

The surface rippled once more.

**- o0o -**

The fog continued to drift towards them, nearing them steadily as though guided there by a steadfast breeze. He sat up a bit straighter, frowning slightly, wondering why he had not noticed it beforehand.

Just then, the waters nearby stirred slightly and he directed his eyes there, just in time to catch a glimpse of something hovering near the surface before it disappeared back into the deep. Instinctively, he leaned forward, feelings of unease creeping up on him. He turned his head, confirming the thing he had already suspected – he was the only one out on deck that was still awake, barring Timcanpy.

Said golem fluttered above his head, its erratic wing beats telling him it was likely sensing the same thing he was.

He opened his mouth, about to say something, but the intended words died on his lips as a sudden force rammed into the ship's keel, throwing it slightly off balance, followed by another; a greater one.

He was in the water before he knew it, and the blackness swallowed him up just as quickly, just as he drew in a whole mouthful of it in shock and in blossoming terror; he couldn't swim, he couldn't swim, he couldn't swim, he couldn't…

His head broke through the surface, and he coughed, flailed, trying to keep afloat all while his eyes stung from the salty water. There were lights, shouts; the sound of people rushing about. Voices. They were calling someone. Were they calling him?

The dark waves swallowed up all sounds. There was no air; he couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe; he…

**- o0o -**

Elsewhere, a woman looked up, her tired eyes widening a fraction. She stood up suddenly, tipping the chair she had been previously seated on over, a move which startled her companions and instantly brought their eyes to her. Her eyes were wide – wide and terrified – and her hands went to her face, hands curling up into fists, nails digging into her palms, shaking. Her voice, a breathless whisper, echoed in the sudden silence. _"Timothy!"_

She was falling before she knew it.

**- o0o -**

In yet another place, a walking man was brought to a sudden stop, eyes widening momentarily before narrowing. His lips moved, but not a sound came over them.

His companions, noticing that he had once again been brought to a stop, also paused and looked towards him, their eyes seeking some sort of visible explanation for this sudden change of pace, finding none.

Then, suddenly, there was a glimpse of something out of the man's eye and he snapped his head around just as suddenly, briefly catching a glimpse of something bright and shimmering before it was gone again, seemingly having flickered out of existence.

His eyes widened in surprise.

**- o0o -**

The woman was on the floor, on her side, all while her companions sought to revive her using smelling salts. For a long time, she did not budge, and once she did – returning to the world of the living – she only opened her eyes blearily, seemingly only half-aware of what was going on around her. However, that soon changed as something caught her attention, causing her eyes to widen. She tried to reach for it, but it was too far away. It was…

Her companions – one of them, at least – took notice of the direction in which her attention lay, turning, eyes widening in shock just like hers had done not long ago, springing to his feet.

She kept reaching towards it, but her body wouldn't let her get up. It was all too much; it was…

"_Please…"_ she found herself whispering, begging. _"Please…"_

The silent spectre flickered once, twice, and then disappeared altogether.

**- o0o -**

Darkness.

The sound of a drop of water hitting the surface, soon followed by another.

He forced his eyes open, blearily taking in his surroundings where he laid on some sort of stone platform in the midst of… a lake?

"_What?"_

He sat up with much effort, holding his head all while taking a better look at his surroundings.

"_Where…?"_

Another drop fell from above, shimmering in the darkness before hitting the surface, sending multiple ripples across it, the latter distorting the world reflected beneath.

Wait…

Reflections?

He looked down into the lake for a brief moment, finally registering the fact that the water in it was red. However, his attention was swiftly snatched by the black crescent which was reflected beneath. Instinctively, his eyes snapped upwards, towards the sky above him just as another drop fell down.

A white crescent hung in the skies.

A white crescent, crying.

It reminded him of something.

But what?

Brown eyes widened slightly as unspeakable and unbearable pain suddenly washed over him, sending him straight back onto the ground, clutching his head all while his mouth opened in a silent scream.

It hurt.

It hurt.

It…

Another pain, sharper and more swiftly inflicted, struck him and his eyes snapped back open – he didn't even question when exactly he had closed them in the first place – to find himself back in the water, thick clingy liquid darkness surrounding him.

The surface… when did it get so far away?

The lights… where did they…

"_Timothy!"_

Tsukikami? What was he…

Where…

He…

He had to be dreaming.

**- o0o -**

He had to be dreaming. No, the lack of oxygen must have caused him to start hallucinating. Thick blackness bled white in an instant, and it surrounded him, all that glowing whiteness. Foreign, yet familiar, but nevertheless mesmerising.

In mere moments, water gave way to air and he found himself coughing violently in someone's hold, his body convulsing in its effort to purge itself of all the water that had assembled down in his lungs. He was seconds away from blacking out completely, but he held fast by sheer force of will, unwilling to let up on his hold on awareness before he knew the source of all that whiteness; that beautiful light. He forced his eyes open wide even though it hurt, but everything was blurry, distorted. He must've blacked out for a second, because in the next moment he found himself lying on his back on the deck with a ring of terrified and utterly concerned faces surrounding him. A voice, breathless and frightened, reached him. "Timoth-…!"

He sat up suddenly – a bit too suddenly – and hands rushed in to steady him as he coughed, and kept on coughing until he felt like he was about to retch. His vision swam again, momentarily distorting everything and confusing him, but then the strange light appeared again and drew his eyes towards it, following which his vision cleared up, even though all things but the light paled in comparison to it. His breathing hitched, and numerous heads turned to discovered what had caused this kind of reaction, all while his irritated eyes began to water. He wasn't crying; damn it all, he wasn't breaking down at all…

"What on Earth…?"

Out on the very tip of the jib boom, it stood, its massive white cloak fluttering in the wind, both present and imaginary. It shimmered, an ethereal light in the thickening fog, its gaze directed into the distance into which they were heading.

Disbelief. "No way…"

**- o0o -**


	34. The Thirty–Fourth Testament

…

**- o0o -**

**The Thirty-Fourth Testament**

**The One Who Has Yet to Fall**

**- o0o -**

Darkness.

Droplets of water impacted on a greater surface, echoing out into nothingness.

His eyes – screwed tightly shut at some point – snapped open, widening as he took in his surroundings.

A stone platform laid beneath him, surrounded from all sides by water riddled with dead trees and gravestones.

"_Where…?"_

His voice echoed against nonexistent walls as he sat himself up with much effort, his hand immediately coming up to his chest, clutching the fabric tightly in the area above his heart, gritting his teeth as a positively agonising jolt of pain ran through him.

By his side, his right arm – the one containing the accursed piece of Innocence which had ultimately sealed his fate – hung limply, seemingly unusable.

But, even so, he could feel it right there, like an infection working itself up his arm, ready to devour him completely at any given moment.

Instead of fighting to avenge the comrades who had fallen right before him, he had stooped down to a level where he had begged that at least he alone would be spared.

His family; he had only wanted to see his family – his beloved daughter, and his darling wife – just once more, just once more…

He had pleaded, and the reaper had come to a halt, looking honestly intrigued by the offer; had he known back then all that such a deal would entail, then he would have kept his silence and possibly even his honour, hoping to dear God that the Order would keep their promises even after he had perished.

Jamie's life depended on it.

But, instead of fighting to his last breath, he had cowered.

Shakily, he rose to his feet.

Instead of following his comrades into the afterlife, he had turned traitor and sent others to be slaughtered in his own stead.

Tina Spark.

Gwen Flail.

Sol Galen.

Possibly even more, depending on how much time had passed since then.

He had betrayed the Order.

Even more so, he had betrayed the Innocence.

He was a dead man walking, that is, if he was not dead already…

The dreary landscape which met his eye was far from the purgatory he would have expected, but then again…

He paused at the sound of footsteps approaching, and he turned around – halfway filled with dread and halfway filled with hope, even though he was not all quite sure as to what or whom he should expect to encounter.

Still, what met his eyes surprised him, and he paled at the sight of greyish skin and a pair of eerie amber-coloured eyes – both of them being features which had been rather prevalent in his attacker – while he at the same time wondered at the stark whiteness of the other's hair, along with a scar running down the left side of the other's face.

The white-haired Noah – unfamiliar yet strangely familiar at the same time – said nothing, staring calmly at him with those dreadful eyes for a few moments before directing them elsewhere, down to the surface of the water as it laid eerily calm.

It was only then that he really noticed that the image the surface reflected differed from the night skies above them.

Instead, it was a pool of red, and beneath it were the reflected ruins of a world in shambles.

However, once a shimmering drop fell from above and rippled the surface, the images melted away and were replaced by others, ones that were of far more concern to him.

Down there, he saw himself – or rather, his body – lying in an unfamiliar room, being tended to by equally unfamiliar people.

He stared down at the image so intently that he nearly forgot about the grey-skinned demon standing next to him, so when the latter suddenly spoke, he startled.

"_**At this rate, you'll fall…"**_

He said nothing, looking down at his body where it lay.

Amber eyes stared at him out of the corner of his eye.

"_**You'll become a Fallen One… and you will kill plenty, and then you'll die, once your Innocence decides that you've suffered enough…"**_

He already knew that, deep within, just as he dreaded it.

He had made a decision, and he would reap the consequences of it whether he liked it or not.

He barely even took note of the Noah as it glanced at him in something akin to pity.

"_This power,"_ he found himself saying, looking down at his unmoving Innocence. _"I never wanted…"_

The Noah said nothing, directing its eyes back to the surface as it had rippled once more and only then really cleared to display yet another image.

It was his daughter – his beloved Jaime – sitting on her bed, clutching a teddy bear while looking out the window, staring into the distance.

Jaime… Jaime… Jaime…

He would never see her again…

Jaime… Jaime… Jaime…

He would die as a traitor – as a Fallen One – and they would be the ones who would pay the ultimate price for his foolishness.

He…

Another drop hit the surface, rippling it.

"_**I don't have a heart."**_

He looked up, staring in surprise at the Noah where it stood, watching him.

"_**If I ever did, I gave it up a long time ago."**_

Those eerie amber coloured eyes drained of their colour, leaving silver-grey ones in their wake.

"_**I don't, but… you do, don't you?"**_

The Noah held up a hand towards the crescent hanging above them, fingers splayed, and it was only really then that he took note of the other's blackened left arm, his eyes widening at the sight of the cross clearly visible in the other's palm.

Was it…?

No, it couldn't be…

"_**But… it's strange, isn't it? Ironic too, I guess…"**_

The hand twitched slightly, seemingly of its own accord, and the Noah smiled wryly.

"_**Its presence in me is what stole my one shot at becoming a decent human being…"**_

The hand was lowered, allowed to fall limply to the other's side as the Noah closed its eyes.

"_**Without it… I could've had a family and maybe not grown up to be so thoroughly twisted… Then again, knowing me and where I came from, I doubt there was ever a decent bone in me to begin with… but that's a matter of personal opinion, I suppose."**_

The eyes – retaining their silver-grey colour – fluttered back open, and just then the greyness drained from the other's skin, leaving a deathly pale hue in its wake as the other's breath hitched momentarily.

"_**The heart I didn't allow myself to have… the emotions I didn't allow myself to feel…"**_

Silver-grey eyes closed briefly once more before being forced back open.

"_**My emotions…nourishing it… like the parasite it is."**_

The surface rippled once more, and the images reflected grew temporarily distorted before clearing once more.

"_What is this place?"_

He shifted his position, still on his guard.

"_Who are you?"_

"_Why… why are you in this place?"_

The other merely glanced at him before looking back down at the things reflected below.

"_**This is a realm of thought – of dreams – disconnected from the rest of reality, yet connected to it all the same…"**_

"_**As for who I am, that is still up to debate…"**_

"_**As for why I'm here…"**_

Another drop hit the surface, rippling it, and once the image cleared, he could see the vague outline of the person next to him on some sort of bed, tended to by a bunch of strange humanoid creatures.

"_**My Memories – my Noah abilities – were forced out on the surface before I was mentally prepared to handle them…"**_

"_**As such, to prevent my mind from breaking, I allowed it to shut down… so that I could heal… and recover…"**_

"_**However, at this rate…"**_

Something took place in the reflection below, and the person next to him flickered momentarily before once again appearing solid, and greyness once more spread across their skin.

"_**If I leave this place, my mind will break."**_

"_**If I don't, I will die."**_

"_**Ironic, isn't it?"**_

Amber-coloured eyes looked towards him once more.

"_**And then, there's you…"**_

"_**If you leave, your Innocence will consume you and turn you into a Fallen One."**_

"_**And if you stay… well, time will tell…"**_

The surface rippled once more, distorting the images which lay below.

"_**However…"**_

The rings spread wider, growing further apart.

"_**In the end, that is entirely up to you."**_

"_**Whether you'll live on as a human… whether you'll be consumed…"**_

New droplets of clear liquid hit the surface in quick succession, rippling it.

"_**There's no such thing as true salvation… and as such, I can't offer it to you." **_

"_**Besides, even if I did have the means to do such a thing, I wouldn't, because…" **_

Amber-coloured eyes looked towards him, narrowing slightly.

"_**It is not my task to save humanity; it's humanity's own job to save itself."**_

A hand was held out towards him, steadily.

"_**I don't offer salvation to anyone; I offer up alternatives, and alternatives come at a price…"**_

"_**But… it's up to you whether or not to take them."**_

He stared at the offered appendage with a sudden mixture of disgust and reluctance, well aware of what had resulted from his latest deal with the Earl's cohorts.

In this strange place, he had nearly forgotten that he was facing a sworn enemy of the Order, but then again – as a traitor to the Order – what would that make him?

Still, the other's motives were entirely unknown to him, and…

"_Why?" _

The scales tipped over, favouring curiosity and suspicion over general animosity.

"_Why would you – a Noah…?"_

Amber-coloured eyes levelled him with a look, and the hand which had still been held out to him was slowly withdrawn as the other's eyes went back to the surface, as the previously distorted images cleared once more, all while the other stood silent.

Words were redundant.

He looked once and knew that he had lost.

With a sigh, he cast what little remained of his pride aside and bowed his head slightly, resigning to the fate which awaited him.

"_What must I do?"_

A single blood-red drop fell down, rippling the surface.

"_**You must choose."**_

Rings spread across it, echoing out into seeming nothingness.

Yet, before the surface had stilled completely, something else – something far greater than a mere droplet – fell from the skies, and its descent slowed noticeably just before it reached the surface.

It was a hooded figure all dressed in white, humanoid in its appearance, wearing what looked like a domino mask, barely visible beneath the hood, its body seemingly obscured by the long shimmering cape which surrounded it along with a strange ethereal light.

It approached them, seemingly walking on top of the surface itself.

"_**He will show you the way out…"**_

His attention snapped back to the Noah standing next to him.

"_**But… what you do from that point on is up to you."**_

The hooded figure took a step towards him.

Sudden light appeared, surrounding them from all sides.

Voices – familiar yet unfamiliar, echoing both on the outside and within.

He caught a glimpse of the Noah turning away before the bright light consumed him completely.

Within him, something sang out in response, resonating with the light.

Then, nothing.

And the surface lay still once more.

**- o0o -**


	35. The Thirty–Fifth Testament

…

**- o0o -**

**The Thirty-Fifth Testament**

**The Crying Clown and the Mad Hatter**

**- o0o -**

Voices rose from the deep, echoing against nonexistent walls.

"_I don't understand it…"_

The surface rippled, and multiple rings spread across it, echoing out into seeming nothingness.

"_I have never heard of such a thing…"_

Voices, vaguely familiar yet not.

He couldn't see the ones who were speaking, but the voices reached him undistorted, rising from the deep.

"_It shouldn't be possible…"_

He felt inclined to agree, and he leaned forward.

His eyes were on the surface.

Seemingly in response to his shift in attention, it rippled, and once the image cleared, he could catch just a bare glimpse of their shadows moving about.

"_The Innocence… it's moving around independently…"_

More voices, echoing.

"_But… could it be…?"_

The images down there drifted in and out of focus as the surface stirred once more, as if it had been disturbed by an unseen force.

"_It's not entirely corporeal…"_

It rippled.

He felt his attention slip; the voices just rambled on, unaware as usual of that they were being listened in on, unaware of the fact that he could make out their shapes in the water's reflection, that he could hear their voices almost as clearly as if he had been right there with them, eavesdropping out in the corridor or in the room next to them.

Voices, echoing.

"_Still, it was here – for just a few moments…"_

Confusion, disbelief, wonder – he could almost taste them.

The voices rambled on, into infinity and beyond.

"_It materialised here, briefly, and then…" _

And then, silence.

"…_It's not here."_

Amber-coloured eyes watched the reflections in the water with disinterest.

Then, he reached for another handful of pebbles.

"_**It's not here either, idiots…"**_

He threw them.

The surface rippled.

Multiple rings spread across it before echoing out into stillness and the silence that followed.

After all, it wasn't like they could hear him.

The distance between them was far too great, in space and possibly even in time.

With some effort, he got to his feet, eyeing his surroundings.

It was a familiar landscape, one which had been with him for as long as he could recall.

It was an inner world created from fragments…

From memories…

Memories scattered about, like pieces of glass thrown into a pool of darkness.

At some point, they had been static, like the pool of stagnant water they had been lying in for years and years to come.

Then, at some point, something foreign had hit the surface, rippling it.

It had set things in motion, causing the sleeping darkness beneath it to stir.

Memories, recollections…

Even so, even though they had been disturbed, a part of their stagnancy remained… like an inescapable reminder that they had never been his; that the eyes that had witnessed the events they displayed were not his, even though he could at times visualise them as clearly as if they truly had been ones of his own.

Then again, what use were memories?

Those without practical use were a liability; keepsakes of moments and people already lost in time.

He didn't need memories – anyone's memories – as long as he had himself…

Hadn't that been his conclusion – his standpoint?

Still…

The surface stirred.

Power…

Knowledge…

Skills…

Memories…

He himself had been the one to embrace them; accepting them as a part of himself.

He had always been drifting, striving to remain unattached to the world and whatever duties it might see it fit to bestow upon him, but in truth, he had also been waiting.

Without knowing, he had always been waiting… for something or someone to turn up, for someone to turn up and provide him with the missing pieces of his own self, for someone to turn up and just give him something to fill up the dark void inside of him.

He had waited, and he thought he had been waiting in vain.

Seeing no point in waiting for someone or something that would probably never turn up, he stopped.

Even so, even if memories and attachments were a true bother, he did not want to be all empty on the inside, not if he could help it.

He filled the void with memories of his own making.

But, his makeshift memories should have been of no concern to others.

His lack of attachments should have ensured that.

Even so…

_"Say…"_

An insufferable brat, far too curious for his own good.

_"Why do you wear a mask anyway?" _

"_Why is there a need to wear one in the first place?" _

"_Who are you really, underneath it all?"_

There was a nervous woman, far too concerned with others for her own good. He had presented her with a mask, telling her to become someone else, foolishly believing that others could also change into someone different by merely donning another mask, by wearing another's face…

There was an awkward man, thrown out of isolation and into the real world, far too protective for his own good. He had presented him with a choice, believing that they – him and the others – would all go away eventually and that any evidence of their presences in his life would fade just as quickly as they did.

But, they didn't.

Even in their physical absence, he could still sense them, albeit vaguely.

He could still see them on occasion; he could still see them, sometimes as clearly as if he had walked right beside them.

Even with the distance which lay between them, he still found himself watching.

Instead of fading, it was as though their presences had only grown stronger and brighter, like flares clearly visible to him in the darkness.

It was all rather pathetic really.

He, who had gone to such lengths to remain uninvolved and to remain unattached to others, had involved himself in this mess to begin with.

It was all the same – with Mana, with them, with all of it.

Truly, what had he been thinking?

He ought to…

He paused, looking up, suddenly aware that he was no longer alone.

A light sigh confirmed it and he turned his head, laying eyes on the origin of it.

A man – in his twenties or thereabouts – stood there, long red hair framing his features.

Eyes – of a very familiar hue – looked towards him.

He turned around fully, facing the other with an impassive stare.

"_**It's about time that you showed up."**_

The other's smile – bleak but strangely honest – widened a fraction.

The stranger stood, remaining where he was though he was certainly watching him with keen interest.

"_I was not aware that you were expecting me, Allen,"_ the other finally said. _"Or is it Red at the moment?"_

He snorted in response, his eyes narrowing.

"_**After all these years of silence, is that really all you've got to say… Allen?"**_

The stranger looked vaguely amused at that.

"_After all these years, is that really any way to address your… predecessor?"_

"_**Talk,"**_ he bit back, his tone betraying his impatience. _**"This body won't hold for much longer."**_

The other sighed, tucking a stray lock of hair back in place.

"_The Fourteenth and I… we had an agreement."_

The surface nearby stirred slightly, as if in response.

"_However,"_ the other continued, a slightly forlorn look entering his eyes. _"Outer interference prevented me from fulfilling my end of the bargain… until you, that is."_

"_**Outer interference?"**_

He frowned lightly in response to the affectionate undertone to the latter part of the other's statement.

"_Yes…" _the other continued, making a vague gesture at their surroundings._ "Thanks to that, the memories are all over the place – mine, yours, the Fourteenth's…"_

He said nothing, waiting for the other to continue.

"_Whatever or whoever did it is still out there… so you better watch out, not only for yourself but also for your allies… because this – whatever it is – will stop at nothing to attain its goals, whatever those goals may be."_

There was a foreign sensation, something akin to actual fear, as if part of him visibly recoiled from the mere mention of said entity.

He found himself shuddering inwardly, as if his body recalled events his mind did not.

"_But…"_ the other continued, taking a step towards him. _"No matter what it did to us…"_

Another step. _"No matter what it did to the Fourteenth and I…"_

Another. _"And no matter what it tried shaping us into…"_

The other came to a stop, having reached him. _"It doesn't matter."_

The other – Allen – crouched down slightly, placing his hands onto his shoulders.

"_You'll live your own life and shape your own fate… regardless of what happened in the past, because your present and your future is for you to decide, for you and Neah."_

The other smiled down at him, a smile which was in turn answered by an open scowl as amber eyes narrowed.

"_The past doesn't matter… because we can reshape it as many times as we want…" _the other said reassuringly. _"If you don't like the picture, you can always repaint it."_

"_**And if I can't draw or paint to save my own life?"**_ he drawled back in response, his eyes narrowing even further.

The other just snorted at him, relinquishing his grip._ "Who said you need to use a brush or a pencil?"_

One step back, followed by another, followed by a third.

"_Inherited or not, you've got musical talent. Use it."_

The other took yet another step back, his form growing increasingly transparent.

"_Time's up,"_ he said. _"For me, and for you as well…"_

"_However, Red,"_ he continued with a smile. _"I'll have you know that you're a much better Allen than I ever was, so bear that name with pride; you've earned it."_

Red snorted in response. _**"I don't care."**_

"_**No matter what you may have promised the Fourteenth…" **_

He raised his hand, forming a fist.

"_**This body… I won't give it up without a fight."**_

"_Perhaps,"_ the other responded, seemingly unfazed by his statement. _"As long as you continue to protect his Memories, that's fine. Then again…"_

Silver-grey eyes grew distant for a moment before the other snorted, turning his head to the side. _"No, it's nothing."_

"_**Wait."**_

Red lowered his clenched fist slowly, amber eyes narrowing even further.

"_**Ultimately, I accepted these Memories as a part of me, however, only as a part…" **_

"_**If he seeks to consume me and take over completely, he'd better find himself some other fool to possess…"**_

The other smiled bleakly. _"Because you'd rather die than have someone else dictate your life, was it?"_

He snorted in response, averting his eyes from the spectacle.

"_Allen,"_ the other then said, as the last vestiges of him faded. _"The rest is up to you… and Neah… to work out amongst yourselves."_

He snorted, closing his eyes.

Silence.

Then, something surfaced, echoing against nonexistent walls.

He looked up, startled, his eyes widening slightly.

For a few moments, silence continued to reign, but then the foreign noise returned, louder this time around.

To him, it was a very familiar sound, even though it had been distorted to such an extent that it was barely recognisable.

It sounded again, and this time around, he sought to place it.

Amber-coloured eyes levelled on the darkened surface.

The waters stirred beneath him, disturbed by an unseen force.

He closed his eyes.

He could hear the sounds more clearly then, rising from the deep.

Someone was playing…

It was familiar…

He had been there before…

He…

He rejected the unfinished notion, staggering slightly as memory upon memory entered his mind uninvited, invoking sensations he would rather have been without.

It was unnecessary; it lacked relevance to him, to his present and to his future.

Those memories were redundant; he didn't need them.

He…

A single translucent drop fell down from above, accompanied by several others, rippling the surface in quick succession.

Something wet ran down his cheek. He wiped it away without much thought.

Then, realisation suddenly dawned upon him.

_Tears…?_

_Why am I…?_

The noise returned, sounds stringing together to form a melody, ever familiar.

He…

The surface rippled once more, and rings spread across it, and then all lay silent.

**- o0o -**

Awareness returned to him slowly – gradually. Reality was blurred and out of focus, and the ceiling which met his eye was vaguely familiar to him on one hand, yet completely unfamiliar on the other.

Suddenly assaulted by a wave of nausea, he screwed his eyes tightly shut. However, as the echoing sounds of a familiar melody reached him, they snapped back open and his body attempted to get up, seemingly out of its own accord, which proved to be a big mistake.

Pain – agonising and close to unimaginable – seared through him, and he would have cried out if he hadn't bit his lip instead, drawing blood. The coppery smell and taste momentarily snapped him back into a state of reasonable awareness, keeping him there long enough for him to take note of that the echoing music had ceased and that the echoing sound of running footsteps had taken their place.

The running footsteps came to a sudden stop, and before he knew it, a somewhat familiar face entered his line of vision, relief written all over it, intermingling with lingering worry.

He opened his mouth – for what exactly, he did not know – but before he had said anything, the Earl had shushed him softly before reaching out to brush dishevelled white locks away from his face, fingertips lingering on his forehead. Bandages covered it – he only really noticed them then, even though they had probably at least partially contributed to his lingering headache, wrapped tightly around his head as they were.

The hand on his forehead slid down to his cheek, caressing it slowly, wiping lingering blood away from his mouth. Warm fingertips brushed against his scar – his self-inflicted reminder – leaving a strange tingling sensation in their wake, all while amber eyes continued to watch over him, gentle yet undeniably possessive."Welcome home… Allen."

That voice, so familiar, so filled with tenderness. It felt so misplaced – so alien, even outright absurd. He felt nauseous. New echoes resounded within, and his nausea increased tenfold.

**- o0o -**

"_Who are you?"_

**- o0o -**

"_Who are you, really?"_

**- o0o -**

"_Who are you really, underneath it all?"_

**- o0o -**

"_Are you Allen?"_

**- o0o -**

Echoes, fleeting impressions… everything blurred together, forming a disorienting mess. Before he knew it, his body – despite the lingering pain and weakness in his limbs – had sprung up, seemingly intent on making its escape. If anything, it was an action sprung from survival instincts more than any deliberate attempt at making a getaway.

In any case, he did not get far as arms encircled him, pulling his back against a broader chest and trapping him there. He shuddered, eyes wide but not really seeing, but the arms kept him firmly in place. "It's going to be alright… you're going to be alright… you…"

Words intended to reassure faded into the distance as familiar hands – sans gloves – ran fingers through his hair. The physical contact was unwanted, but not unneeded. It gave him something to focus on, working as a temporary anchor to keep him firmly grounded in reality.

The echoes once again faded into the distance and he heaved a sigh of something akin to relief.

**- o0o -**

"_Are you Allen?"_

**- o0o -**

He closed his eyes.

**- o0o -**

**"**_**Does it matter?"**_

**- o0o -**

It really didn't, because he could be just about anyone he wanted to be.

**- o0o -**


	36. The Thirty–Sixth Testament

…

**- o0o -**

**The Thirty-Sixth Testament**

**The Sun and the Moon**

**- o0o -**

"_Allen…"_

A disembodied voice rose from the waters, resonating against nonexistent walls.

There was a cloaked figure – dressed all in white – perched on top of one of the many gravestones scattered about which stuck up above the surface, its unseen eyes overlooking the dreary nightscape before the figure suddenly straightened up some and turned its head in direction of the voice, flickering briefly towards the surface before once again looking skywards, towards the thin crescent in the darkened skies where it hung, surrounded by a whole array of stars.

"_I'm here."_

A sudden gust of wind blew past as the figure left its perch, its unseen feet coming to rest on top of the surface itself.

Beneath them, a slight ripple formed, before the surface gradually began to freeze as snow began to fall from the clear skies above, scattered about by the wind as it gradually grew stronger.

"_I'm right here."_

Snowflakes whirled in the air, all while the hooded figure stood motionless upon the frozen waters, cloak whipping around it as the unknown fabric of it was caught by a swiftly rushing current of air.

Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the wind died down, and the figure turned around just as abruptly, seemingly overlooking the frozen and pronouncedly desolate landscape once more.

The figure retained its silence, its domino mask and hood efficiently hiding whichever emotions may have been hidden beneath, all while the disembodied voice continued to echo between nonexistent walls.

"_I'm coming for you, Allen."_

Eyes, hidden behind the metallic domino mask, grew wide in something akin to terror before being screwed tightly shut as the figure shuddered openly.

Hands – mismatched in both colouring and fashion – were brought up to press against unseen ears as the figure let out a shuddering breath which hung like a white cloud in the cold air, carrying the hint of a quiet whisper as the disembodied voice repeated the promise yet again before echoing off into silence.

"_I'm coming for you."_

The frozen waters beneath him stirred, disturbed by the unseen as well as by a deep-seated inner turmoil as the figure shuddered once more, struck by an unmistakable sense of foreboding as new echoes rang out to fill the silence the previous voice had left behind.

"_Allen…"_

The figure looked up.

Mismatched hands were removed from unseen ears, as mismatched eyes – obscured by the mask – looked towards the waning moon where it hung.

This latest voice – ever familiar, but not dreadfully so – summoned an image of a child sitting on top of the railing to some large ship, looking out towards the horizon, oblivious to the fact that his thoughts – some of them, at any rate – were being projected elsewhere, appearing as echoes within another's consciousness.

"_Can you see me?"_

The image blurred somewhat, shifting in and out of focus, all while the echoes went on.

"_Are you watching me now, right in this moment?"_

The figure shifted slightly as the frozen waters beneath stirred once more.

**- o0o -**

A gentle ocean breeze tousled his hair, like an invisible force passing through on its way to some other faraway place. Timothy was sitting on top of the railing once more, his feet dangling over the edge of it, even if he probably shouldn't have, considering after all the things he had been through the other night.

Timcanpy had settled on top of his head, burying himself in-between dishevelled tests of hair, and the sun was slowly sinking into the horizon, marking the end of yet another day out on the open sea. The ocean itself was calm, but not entirely still, as an occasional gust of wind brushed against it, disturbing the surface ever so slightly.

Out on deck, the crew was bustling about as usual, presumably on their way to get supper, but he paid them little heed, looking out towards the horizon. In return, they ignored him to a similar extent – after all, they too had suffered the brunt of his bad mood at the very beginning of the voyage, and as such, they knew to keep their distance. Admittedly, he had not taken much out on them, but they were well aware of the fact that he desired no one's company but his own.

Absentmindedly, he took note of the fact that his stomach was growling again, a clear indication that he probably hadn't eaten in a while. Still, with all the people moving about, he didn't exactly feel like diving into the fray to swipe himself something remotely edible; doing so would no doubt ensure that he would be forced to engage in some sort of conversation with either a member of the crew or a member of the Order of Utter Incompetence, and it would suffice to say that he would appreciate neither. Admittedly, starving himself really wasn't the way to go either, but he would rather not suffer their company any to any further extent than was to be considered absolutely necessary for his continued survival.

He paused, blinking as a sudden realisation struck him. Allen. He was beginning to sound just like him; it was truly unsettling. Then again…

He was broken out of his reverie when a voice called out to him. Turning his head, he was able to confirm that it was the bandana-wearing redheaded idiot – otherwise known as the Bookman Apprentice, otherwise known as Lavi – holding up a pair of oranges for him to see, grinning as widely as ever. He just snorted in response, holding his hand out, palm held upward. An utterance of gratitude was on his tongue, but he held it back, making sure it never went past his lips. However, the redheaded idiot in question seemed to notice it anyway, his grin widening just a fraction. "You're welcome, little guy."

Timothy averted his eyes, turning them instead towards the orange in his hands. His stomach growled once more, and he could have sworn his hands shook a little when he set about peeling the fruit; if so, then he really needed to be more careful, because if he kept going at a similar rate he could very well find himself blacking out at some point, and if any of the exorcists learnt about that he was pretty sure he would never be hearing the end of it.

Somehow, he had a distinct feeling this was how Allen had felt back in India, during his recovery. No really, in hindsight, Timothy could very much relate; having people treating you as though you were just as fragile as glass or ancient porcelain was rather annoying when one came around to experience it. Thus, he felt like he now understood Allen's occasional displays of snappiness in their midst a bit better than he had before.

Once again, brown eyes sought out the horizon, watching it intently as though trying to discern what lay beyond it. However, his eyes could only see that far – unlike Allen, whose eyes and ears picked up on so much more than what was audible to the human ear and visible to the human eye.

Amber-coloured eyes – positively glowing – flashed before his inner sight and he visibly shuddered, to the surprise of his silent observer. _Allen…_

Another gust of wind blew past, and it seemingly carried a voice with it, but it was too distant, so he was unable to discern any specific words. The wind picked up, and the voice it seemed to carry rung stronger within him. It tugged at something – a memory, perhaps – but it eluded him, slipping away from him when he reached for it. _Remember._

He forced his eyes shut, on the verge of gritting his teeth. _Remember!_

The memory continued to elude him, possibly due to the rather intense scrutiny of an all too familiar redhead he didn't really know at all.

That nearly ever-present grin – it certainly looked friendly enough, but it was too shallow; too superficial. "Why?"

His sudden inquiry caused the grin to fade a bit before it morphed into a slight smile as the other tilted his head slightly in question. "Why what?"

"Why… is it so fake – that stupid grin on your face?"

The redhead paused, his single visible eye widening just a fraction before the other's mask had slipped back in place with a grin – looking a great deal more forced than usual – adorning it. The Bookman Apprentice leant closer, scrutinising him. "Hey, kid… just what the heck was that supposed to mean?"

Timothy did not allow himself to be deterred by the other's sudden proximity, forcing himself to remain calm, even if his eyes narrowed just a hint at the underlying tone found in the other's question. "They – those other idiots – might not see it, but I do," he finally said, brown eyes challenging the other. "You're a fake."

The apprentice's grin diminished once more, but it faded more thoroughly this time around, leaving no trace of its existence as it went, all while Lavi himself scratched the back of his neck, a look of indifference gracing his features. "That's harsh," he then noted rather flatly, keeping his voice perfectly level.

"But not untrue, unlike you," Timothy responded without skipping a beat, looking on as the other sagged slightly in his posture while leaning against the railing, sighing out loud.

"Geez, kid…" The other paused slightly, looked up momentarily and then shrugged, his usual façade slipping back into place as his voice took on a more cheerful undertone. "Then again, I suppose it takes an idiot to know one."

Timothy watched him with something akin to distaste. "Then I suppose you should know all about it, seeing that you're like the king of all idiots…" he finally noted, once again directing his eyes towards the horizon.

The other continued to lean heavily onto the railing, sagging even more in his posture. "Kid… I'm just trying to be friendly over here. What are you trying to do?"

Oh yes, what had he been trying to do again? Ah, _that_, right?

"Well… I _was_ trying to convey the message that you should '_piss off_', but I doubt you got it."

Subtlety had never really been his forte; neither was good manners, but the latter could at the very least be blamed on Cross' bad influence.

"You know some really big words for being a mere brat…" Lavi finally noted, lifting his head slightly to get a better look at him. "Did he teach you – this Allen Walker guy?"

There was a brief pause, followed by yet another question. "Or was it Red the Joker?"

It was not a less-than-fruitful attempt at a friendly conversation, but rather a continuation of an earlier interrogation – that was exactly what it was, even if it was veiled in order to resemble something else. Realising this, Timothy's eyes narrowed once more. "…You're noisy."

The fake grin was back in place, broadening. "I'm chatty by nature – haven't you noticed?"

He snorted, but didn't comment any further even if he did feel like snapping that the other's chattiness was pretty damn hard to miss. Instead, he retained his silence, directing his eyes back towards the sun as it sunk further into the horizon, colouring the sky in a fiery red colour.

"Say…" He kept his eyes on the horizon, refusing to acknowledge the Bookman apprentice as the latter waved his hand slightly, obviously intent on getting his attention. "That guy – what's he like, during normal circumstances?"

Oh yes, it was all about Allen, wasn't it?

He let out a small huff of something akin to annoyance. Oh right, the redheaded bandana-wearing idiot _had_ been with him after all, the last time he was able to talk to Allen face to face down in that accursed dungeon, acting out the role of an redundant escort who had only really tagged along to eavesdrop on their conversation.

"Is he always that… impassive, sarcastic and outright whimsical?"

_Whimsical? Allen?_

Timothy considered it for a second or two before discarding the notion. "Who knows?"

"Hah?" the other responded, blinking. "You don't know?"

Truth to be told, he probably didn't. "He's a weird person…" he finally admitted, the words rolling off his tongue with surprising ease, earning himself a slight snort in response.

"Really? I kind of figured."

He shot a slight glare in the other's direction, and the other held up his hands.

"Sorry about that. Do continue."

He bit his lip. Brown eyes slid down, eventually zeroing in on the half-peeled orange he still held in one of his hands – he had all but forgotten about it, and his hunger along with it. However, once noticed, his stomach expressed its need for sustenance, and nimble fingers – very familiar with the particular task at hand – set about finishing the job. "I don't know how to describe him actually… not without contradicting myself…"

The words slid off his tongue so easily, as if it had taken no effort whatsoever to bring them into existence. It was as though a dam had broken somewhere within him, allowing pent up words and emotions to rush forth. It felt strangely liberating somehow, while he was also painfully aware of the fact that he was revealing things which should probably have gone by unrevealed to a person he did not at all trust. However, there was still something about the whole situation, something about the other's tone and behaviour that indicated that the content of their conversation would remain between them and not be spread any further…

Then again, it was also entirely possible that it was just something he was just imagining, subconsciously wanting to be liberated from an unwanted burden. Either way, he somehow doubted Allen would mind – Hell, he doubted Allen would even give a damn to begin with, but that was just a hunch on his part, even if he did accredit himself one quite knowledgeable about the other's habits and attitude in general.

He put a piece of the peeled orange into his mouth, nearly cringing as the sudden sourness assaulted his taste buds. "I've never really known what to make of him – I still don't. There was just something about him…"

Yes, there had always been something about him – there had always been something about Allen. Whatever it was, it drew others in, bringing them to diverge from their own intended paths so that they could tag along with him instead, headed for the unknown. "It's like he's a walking contradiction – he is rational, all while he's irrational. He's…"

Always walking forward, always on the move, as if he was unconsciously unwilling to stay around and wait for the past to catch up to him. "He doesn't trust… it's like he thinks we'd put a dagger in his back the moment he turns around… yet, sometimes he just…"

But he hadn't been wrong either – they were the ones who hadn't kept their promises. "Out of all of us, the only person he really showed his back to was Miranda… even after…"

Miranda. There was a twinge of something in his chest, a momentary ache as a reminder of what had been, just a couple of weeks prior, back when they were all together, when they were all…

He could almost feel tears burning in his eyes, but he held them back, a hint of frustration leaking into his voice. "Honestly, I never really got it… why he always treated her differently from us. But… maybe…"

"Maybe…?" Lavi repeated, tilting his head slightly to the side in question.

Timothy swallowed. Then, he popped another piece of the orange into his mouth, hoping it would distract him from it all. It didn't. "Before he met her, he had been travelling alone for years, with the circus… but with her, he broke a pattern… and for her, he broke a promise…"

"A promise?" the other echoed, and he gave a short nod of acknowledgement before sighing, his eyes resting once more on the horizon.

"To remain uninvolved…" He shifted slightly in his posture. "To join neither side, to remain a grey existence in a world of black and white…"

He tilted his chin down slightly, his eyes on the darkening waters below. "Cautious yet reckless, cruel yet kind, selfish yet selfless…"

"Because he's a joker, right?" the Bookman apprentice quipped, clearly referring to what Red had said during their last meeting. "A fourteenth player without a place in the game, an existence of contradictions… wasn't it? One who swears no allegiances and take orders from no one… a solitary existence…"

It hurt, perhaps because it was the truth, or part of it at any rate. Then again, that light…

"Back then… back when I was down under… for just a few seconds, I…" He shuddered. "It felt like I would be swallowed up… I thought I would die for a second, but then…"

"Then _that _appeared… right?" the Bookman apprentice cut in, his tone of voice making it rather obvious as to which phenomenon he was referring.

An ethereal figure – familiar yet unfamiliar – standing in the moonlight, shedding light upon dark waters down below…

Timothy shuddered once again, a cold shiver running down his spine. A part of him wanted to curl up where he sat, to pull his knees closer to himself and to cover his ears to drown out the sounds of waves echoing in his ears even though it was plain obvious to him that there were none and that the echoes he heard were just figments of his imagination. Still, he retained his position, his eyes fixed on the waters below them, all while his ears listened to the redhead's continued prattle.

"I have to say, I've never seen an Innocence move around like that… seemingly out of its own will…"

Timothy looked up suddenly, turning his head to face the other. "It wasn't…" he said. "Not entirely, at least."

Silence. The faked grin was far gone, and in its place shone true curiosity. "What do you mean?"

Truly, what _did_ he mean? How _did_ he know that for sure?

He averted his eyes once more, directing them towards the sun as it had nearly disappeared into the horizon. "Briefly… for just a moment, Allen was there," he finally admitted. "I could feel him watching…"

Amber-coloured eyes, watching silently from afar…

"…It's weird," he went on, reading the other's silence as a sign of confusion, which overall probably wasn't all that far from the mark. "Sometimes, I just feel it… It's like he's standing right beside me, even though he's nowhere to be found…"

There was a mild frown, followed by a subtle nod, encouraging him to continue. "Back then, when we were all together, I used to get annoyed at him at times… It was like he was looking through us rather than at us, and I just…" He paused momentarily, looking down at the waters below. "I didn't like it," he then admitted, mostly to himself. "Still, I…"

Tears burned in his eyes once more, but he did not shed them; he wouldn't. A hand landed on his shoulder, and his eyes snapped back in direction of the apprentice, noting through blurry vision that the latter was eyeing him sympathetically. He imagined he had to look really pathetic at that moment, moments away from bursting into tears – moments away from crying, more out of frustration than out of sadness.

"You should rest," Lavi finally admonished him, the shadow of that familiar fake grin adorning his features. "We've got a long day ahead of us tomorrow, little guy."

Timothy huffed slightly in response, bringing his sleeve up to wipe away any excess liquid from his eyes. Then, he turned, jumping down from the railing and onto the deck with little effort, turning slightly to look at the Bookman apprentice where he stood. "I still think you're an idiot."

The other smiled sheepishly, scratching his head. "That's harsh," he responded, his tone light. "Harsh, but not completely untrue, I suppose."

Timothy turned, fully intent on leaving, but then the other continued.

"Look," the redhead said, leaning his back against the railing. "I know this guy is like the world to you – or rather, that he's like the sun and moon and whatnot to you and presumably to your other companions as well…"

Timothy's head snapped around, and brown eyes glared darkly at the redhead, who in turn held up his hands in a disarming gesture. "I'm not saying there's anything wrong about that," the Bookman apprentice defended. "I get the fact that he's really important to you all, and I'm hoping – for your own sakes as well as ours – that he'd treasure you equally, even after-…" – he faltered slightly, looking increasingly uncomfortable – "But…"

No, he wouldn't listen; he didn't want to hear any more of it. Timothy turned, directing his eyes forward once more, his feet steering him away. He had always been stubborn – far too stubborn for his own good – but without being stubborn, he doubted he would ever have accomplished anything in life. He had been stubborn when he had decided to tag along with Allen and the others, and he had been even more stubborn when he had tried to convince Allen to teach him how to juggle.

Those juggling balls – he had lost them somewhere along the Indian subcontinent, not really thinking much about them until he had found himself idle and restless back at the Asian Branch, and even more so out at sea. His hands – they were restless, much like Allen's had been when they had not busied themselves by shuffling the worn playing-cards of the deck he had always carried around during the time Timothy had known him.

Absentmindedly, he found himself wondering just where those cards had disappeared off to, because he doubted Allen still had them, reasoning that they had probably been taken from him alongside his other meagre earthly possessions besides the clothes on his back, meaning that they were probably back at the Asian Branch.

Cards…

He paused in his steps, a dawning sense of realisation bringing his mind to a halt.

His eyes widened slightly.

Tarot cards…

Echoes.

**- o0o -**

_"You and your stupid cards…"_

**- o0o -**

_"Don't you ever get tired of messing around with them?"_

**- o0o -**

_"Not really."_

_The other's response consisted of a disinterested shrug._

_"My hands have a tendency to get restless if they remain idle for too long…"_

**- o0o -**

_Snorting, he pulled out those accursed tarot cards, handing them over. _

_"An old crone gave me these…"_

_"Apparently, they are supposed to be able to tell the future or something, but I think they seem pretty useless so you can have them…"_

_Allen, putting his own cards aside in favour of accepting the offering, studied them briefly before moving on to shuffle them._

_Then, apparently satisfied, the white-haired teen drew card after card, placing them face down onto the seat, creating some sort of pattern before putting the remaining cards aside as he set about to turn the cards face up, one at the time, all while he – Timothy – continued watching, vaguely taking note of the images revealed, recounting them quietly in his head._

_The Moon… _

_The Sun…_

_T__he Star…_

_And…_

**- o0o -**

He shuddered, suddenly overcome by a feeling of foreboding. Then, he looked up to the sound of his name being called, turning to face the occasionally infuriating redhead once more.

"Timothy?" The other sounded almost concerned; almost. "Hey, are you okay? You got really quiet for a while back there…"

He shifted his posture slightly, levelling the other with a grave look, taking silent delight in the fact that it served to make the other feel rather unnerved from the looks of it. "I don't expect an idiot like you to understand," he finally said after a few moments of consideration and of choosing his words wisely. "You Order folks keep going on and on about your friendships and the importance of looking after your comrades. Still, you don't get why I – why _we_ – refuse to join in on this… farce of yours."

He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. "To us, he's a comrade. He's our leader, and he's the one who held his hand out to us when we needed it. Way before you lot came along, he saved Miranda from a life of no tomorrow, and it was his words – not yours – that gave Crowley hope and which led him to leave you in favour of following him. Even I – even after the hellish years I spent with Cross – threw away my quest to get back home in favour of tagging along. I admired him – and I still do – and I wanted him to acknowledge me, and I think it's about the same for the others…"

He paused yet again, his eyes narrowing even further. "You lot speak of friendship and of being comrades, yet you still don't get why we – I, at least – bloody Hell refuse to play along. Allen saved my life – you pointed that out yourself – and he nearly sacrificed his own life to do so. And then, you lot just came along and locked him up, sending for the bloody Inquisition…"

He huffed, shifting his posture. "We'll be entering the Earl's territory any day now," he then said, turning his head slightly, shifting his attention towards the rapidly darkening horizon. "So I thought I might as well come clean before that…"

His eyes once again rested on the redhead, coldly, and he could feel Tsukikami – previously gone silent – hum in agreement to his sentiments, along with Timcanpy who batted his wings rather determinedly. "I'd rather be a heretic than a hypocrite."

**- o0o -**


	37. The Thirty–Seventh Testament

…

**- o0o -**

**The Thirty-Seventh Testament**

**The Time Which Has Yet to Pass**

**- o0o -**

_Water…_

_The sound of waves crashing against the keel of a larger trading vessel, rocking it…_

_The sound of howling winds whipping tattered sails, working alongside the aforementioned waves to bring the vessel even further off its intended course, seeking to steer it into a dark abyss lurking below…_

_Water…_

_Small droplets of clear liquid, impacting on a much darker surface, sending ripples across it and temporarily disturbing the shifting reflections hiding within it…_

_Echoes, ringing out into a realm of emptiness…_

"_I don't expect to be understood…"_

_The ramblings of a child, echoing off into the distance…_

"_I really don't… I just…"_

"_I just…"_

_The child's thoughts were mirrored by those of a woman, a woman whose dark lacklustre hair contrasted greatly against her pale and almost sickly features._

"_I just wanted to be acknowledged…"_

"_I just wanted to prove myself useful… that I wasn't a burden…"_

_A pale-faced man unknowingly chimed in, looking out into the distance…_

"_I only ever wanted a purpose…"_

_Water…_

_A gentle rain falling from above, and down onto the remains of a battlefield, wisps of dark smoke still tainting the air as a silent spectre stood, overlooking the destruction._

"_But I…"_

**- o0o -**

Though rarely ever left alone to act on her own devices, Miranda Lotto did feel incredibly alone where she sat, contemplating her fate in the front of the smaller seagoing vessel she had been obligated to share with her freshly attained and doubtlessly sullen companion.

The latter was a familiar raven-haired young man who spared little time – if any at all – for friendly conversation. Still, though harsh, the treatment she received – mainly consisting of glares, harsh words and the occasional rough shove to accompany them – was not overly malicious, seeing that the young man in question treated just about everyone with the same amount of kindness or lack thereof – allies and non-allies alike – clearly contemptuous as far as human beings were concerned.

She honestly thought there was something about him – something almost feral at times which made him much like a snarling beast of some sort, dangerous and highly unpredictable in everything but his contempt.

The aforementioned was Kanda Yu, the wielder of the blade infused with Innocence, the latter of which had only recently been repaired, and while she by no means relished in the way in which she was treated, Miranda could not bring herself to resent the other, just as she refrained from pitying herself regardless of the seeming severity of her situation.

Even so, she felt useless by all means, even though she strove to refrain from admitting it to herself, reminding herself of the words that he – Allen – had offered her, alongside a mask which she had held near and dear to her for a long time.

His words, asking her to choose…

The proffered mask, offering her a way out – a chance to become someone else…

An extended hand – an offer to spring her from the self-constructed cage of misery she had locked herself up in, as well as an offer of companionship, one which she had longed for so long…

It was an offer of which she had been entirely undeserving, but she took great joy and pride in the fact that Allen had considered her worthy of the opportunity, just as he had considered her worthy of his trust, no matter how fragile it was or had ever been. She just wished they – she along with the others who had sought to walk beside him – too had retained their faith instead of wavering at the last second, suddenly unsure of themselves when the eyes that watched them were no longer the colour they remembered.

She clutched the pocket watch she wore in a thin chain around her neck, further contemplating the fate of both herself and her comrades, even though her thoughts continuously kept drifting towards Allen, as she could not help but wonder silently about his whereabouts and general state of health. Had Allen been around to hear her thoughts, she held little doubt that he would find her overbearing, snorting at her well-meant attempts to help out, stating that she was a fool to worry and that he could take care of himself properly. Then again, in Allen's vocabulary, 'taking care of oneself' was probably more synonymous with 'ensuring one's continued survival' rather than with 'staying safe and healthy'. However, with her own quite frequently occurring habit of extended periods of sleeplessness, she knew that she held little right to judge, whether she liked it or not.

Sighing, she threw a discreet glance in direction of her either completely silent or darkly grumbling companion before swiftly directing her eyes elsewhere as to not alert the other to the fact, doubting it made any difference as the person in question was sharp; incredibly sharp in more ways than one.

"What do you want?" the other soon snapped, turning, while she herself continued to avert her eyes, allowing them to wander over the calm surface on which they travelled, up to the surrounding mountains, all of them covered in thick foliage. She found that they looked a great deal like green giants towering over the landscape with the river slithering between them like a serpent.

"What do you want?" the other repeated as she didn't respond, seemingly attempting to keep his voice flat rather than irritated, even if the latter emotion still continued to leak into it, albeit to a lesser degree.

She retained her silence, even while knowing that her continued refusal to elicit a proper response to the other's inquiry would be met with nothing but negativity; she really felt that she had nothing to say, not in that moment and not to him, as the small boat they were on headed closer and closer to its intended destination. _What do I want?_

Around her, the wind picked up slightly. It filled her with an odd sense of foreboding, as though the wind itself bore warnings of things which had yet to come.

Next to her, her until then either silent or snappy companion suddenly grew very still, cold eyes narrowing some as he scanned their surroundings. Hesitantly, she opened her mouth, but didn't even utter a single word before her companion – voice dangerously low – snapped at her to be quiet, a directive to which she did not find very hard to abide.

"Someone's watching," her companion eventually grunted out, eyeing their surroundings with a dark look adorning his features, all while his fingers crept closer to the handle of his sword.

She averted her eyes from him, observing the landscape out of the corner of her eye instead. She really could not see anything; to her, there wasn't really anything in the landscape that seemed out of place, not visually at any rate. Still, she didn't doubt his judgement – after all, he was sharp, just like Allen, as well as Crowley whenever the latter was focused enough.

Beside her – or rather, _behind_ her, judging from their respective positions in the boat – her companion shifted, his fingers now fully wrapped around the sword's handle. "Can you swim, woman?"

She stiffened noticeably at the other's tone. However, it was the snappish inquiry itself that caused her eyes to widen slightly in something akin to panic before she screwed them shut for a moment, shaking her head repeatedly, earning herself a disappointed snort in return.

Still, it was the truth; her hometown had been located quite far inland, without any rivers within its immediate vicinity. Hence, there had been little reason for her to learn how to swim, especially so because she hadn't wanted to accidentally drown herself in the meantime. Still, it had probably been rather foolish of her not to change that and for her not to have gone through the effort of asking any of her other companions to teach her back when they were still travelling together. But somehow, she never really got around to doing it, did she?

She was just a burden again; a nuisance. At times, she wondered if it might even be better if she would just…

_"If you do not believe in yourself, why would I believe in you?"_

She looked up, startled by the sudden memory. Then, in the next moment, she found herself clutching the railing as the boat suddenly cringed as her companion moved into some sort of crouching position with his sword at hand, clearly ready to leap at any attackers that turned up in their immediate vicinity, if there were any.

Shuddering inwardly, her eyes fell onto the surface slightly below them, and for a brief moment, she thought she actually saw something – a glimpse of something familiar – but then another snarl brought her back into reality with specific instructions to remain focused and preferably as still and quiet as possible unless instructed otherwise.

Obliging as quietly as ever, she waited nervously, unable to escape the sudden notion that they were going to be attacked at any moment. If so, they were not in a very favourable position, being only the two of them and in a small boat no less. Yet again, she found herself reaching for the pocket watch, feeling a slight jolt run through her fingertips as the Innocence within it stirred, clearly sensing her distress.

If she activated it, she could – at best – provide them with a shield, given that their enemies did not possess some sort of ability to bypass it, and somehow she reasoned that if the Earl had truly sent his minions after them, such would be the case. Then again…

She was torn from her brief reverie by a sharp command, telling her to get down, and she did so right away, just before something whooshed past the space where her head had just been. She did not need to see what it was to know it; the sharp sizzling sound the projectile made when it impacted on the water's surface told her everything she needed to know, and she kept her head down, panicking quietly. Her state of mind did not improve as the boat suddenly cringed yet again, and her head flew back up, her eyes wide with panic as her mind zeroed in on a very plausible conclusion, seeing the flaming projectile headed towards them at high speed.

Then, the small boat cringed violently yet again, this time around because her companion had left it, leaping out into the open air to meet the incoming attack head on, sword raised above his head. Fearing the worst was to come, she screwed her eyes shut, praying silently, but for what exactly, she did not know. She didn't want to die; not like that, not at that moment. She… she just-…

"_I just wanted to be acknowledged…"_

Again, it was as if something – like a jolt of electricity – surged through her. _I…_

The flaming projectile was cleaved in half by her companion, its respective halves ending up in the water on either side of the boat, stirring up waves bigger than those of her companion when the latter also fell into the water.

The boat rocked dangerously, but she still stood up, clutching the pocket watch hung around her neck.

Sputtering curses were heard as her companion's head resurfaced, but she paid him very little heed, choosing to focus on herself instead, and on the watch as it lit up slightly, responding to her silent call.

Slowly, she raised her head, her eyes sweeping across the landscape. She still didn't see as much as a glimpse of their attacker, but knowing the approximate direction from which the earlier projectiles had come, she directed her attention towards it.

_There_, her mind quietly supplied. _Akuma. Level-Two._

A Level-Two shouldn't have been much of a threat, not to an exorcist at any rate, but she herself was not a fighter; her Innocence was geared towards defence and not offence, but at a time like this one, when her only other companion was still trying to climb back into the boat, she felt like it was the right thing to do, seeing that she herself did not want to die, and because she did not want anyone else to die either, not if she could help it at least. She just hoped her actions would not lead to making the whole situation any worse than it already was.

Still, as another flaming projectile came hurling their way, she could not help but screw her eyes shut, willing herself to remain steadfast. Allen. What would Allen have done, faced with a situation like this? Not just Allen; what would the others have done? What?

**- o0o -**

_"Miranda, Miranda, poor, poor Miranda. __Ugly, unlucky and plain usele-…"_

_Her hand in another's, as said other chased away her tormentors with little effort and seeming amusement._

_"They're right, you know…"_

_The hand had slipped away from hers, and she found that she missed the strange feeling of warmth that it had given her, even if she knew that he would certainly be better off not being near her._

_"My bad luck…"_

_He turned back to face her, half-hidden silver-grey eyes studying her in silence._

_"I don't believe in bad luck."_

_His voice was flat, his face the very image of indifference._

_"But…"_

_He ignored her protest as if it had never been._

_"If I were to believe in it, bad luck would no doubt befall me. Hence, I don't."_

_The scenery changed, moving away from the street to the insides of a colourful tent, with the mask being presented before her once more._

_The proffered mask, offering her a way out – a chance to become someone else, a chance to become someone better…_

_"If you do not believe in yourself, why would I believe in you?"_

**- o0o -**

Her eyes snapped back open.

**- o0o -**

"_Allen."_

**- o0o -**

_Water…_

_Raindrops fell from above, showering a desolate landscape._

_The silent spectre tore its eyes from the ruins, directing them skywards._

**- o0o -**


	38. The Thirty–Eighth Testament

_Truth to be told, I should probably be doing something else right now; I should be doing stuff like sleeping or studying for my upcoming exam. Then again, creative writing is seldom as tempting as it is when one should really be doing something else… wouldn't you agree?_

_As for the chapter itself… I don't find it very interesting, though it's nice to see Allen around again. As for me, I'm already a couple of chapters ahead, plotting things, so it's no wonder._

_In any case, feel free to read and hopefully – to some extent, at any rate – enjoy._

_Cheers._

**- o0o -**

**The Thirty-Eighth Testament**

**The One Who Has Yet to Move Forward**

**- o0o -**

It had been in his youth, or at least a few years previous, that he had first seen them – cubs, born from one of the few lionesses at the circus. The event in itself – of cubs being born into captivity – was quite rare from what he had been able to gather at the time, but what had struck him then and had remained with him since was not the supposed rarity of the event itself, but rather the less than impressive appearance of said cubs.

Weak and initially blind, they were a pile of pathetically mewling balls of fur, staying close to their mother, fearful of strangers and kindred alike, collapsing in a heap after just a handful of steps. "Weak like newborn kittens," someone had mumbled then, and he had felt more than inclined to agree, watching the pathetic little beings recently brought into the world. However, as he had kept on watching, those selfsame creatures had grown, fear giving way to curiosity and weakness giving way to strength and pride and an ever growing frustration at being unable to leave at their own leisure to seek out other prides and hunting grounds, at having been reduced to performing tricks for the sake of amusing humans until they were old and once again as weak and nearly as blind as they had been as newborns.

Now, Allen could very much relate to their sentiments as he slowly made his way down a pathway, using the nearest wall as a support as his knees kept folding beneath him every other step, making him curse softly under his breath. Truly, it was frustrating to have been reduced to such a state, even though part of it had been self-inflicted, but that very frustration was what spurred him on; it was what empowered him to force his feet to keep going, to keep on moving. Regardless of bodily weakness, ingrained instincts screamed at him to keep on going until he found the exit instead of staying around, waiting for someone to find him and return him to the confinements of his bed.

A part of him – presumably the one in closer contact with the Fourteenth – whispered to him about the existence of a hidden room from which the place he was in – the Noah's Ark – could be controlled, but he noted with frustration that although he could clearly summon a mental picture of the room in question, he found himself unable to recall or visualise any method of finding and entering it.

He was forced to pause as another wave of nauseating pain came over him. Truly, as weak as a newborn kitten…

He gritted his teeth in frustration while waiting for the episode to pass and for the headache to fade to reasonably tolerable levels, all while the seconds crept by. More than a minute had passed before he got up again, leaning heavily against the wall for support as the world around him tilted dangerously.

He pushed on, and finally found himself nearing the door at the very end of the pathway he had been making his way through, and – perhaps guided there by an unseen force – he made the unusually hopeful assumption that said door was possibly one connected to the outside.

He reached out, fully intent on testing this little hypothesis of his, only to freeze up as he sensed a fluctuation in his surroundings. He straightened up, turning his head slightly, catching sight of a Level-Three bowing its head submissively in his direction, and without reflecting much on it and without turning, he spoke up. "This door… is it connected to the outside?"

The akuma bowed its head even lower. "Yes, Lord Noah."

He considered his next course of action for a moment. Then, he swung around, his previously useless left arm returning to life in an instant. In the next, his claws had already run through the akuma before him, nailing it to the wall. "Thank you."

He withdrew them quickly and deactivated his Innocence, leaving the Level-Three to disintegrate. But even so, he did not deactivate his Innocence quickly enough, and he was feeling the strain already, which in itself was a clear indication of the state he was in. He leant against the nearest wall, using its support to keep himself upright, cold sweat on his face and neck.

Earlier, after what had seemed like days and nights in and out of a state of delirium, he had found himself overcome by a sudden feeling of urgency, one which had driven him to actually get out of bed and to head out, instinctively seeking the exit of the god damned maze he had apparently ended up in, driven forth by the aforementioned feeling of urgency he was still perceiving, just as clearly as he had upon waking up.

It was just a feeling; it wasn't even a voice or a noise, but it still called out to him. However, the way it called for him was different from the way darkness had always called out to him, intent on drawing him in; this was something else…

It was a sense of foreboding, he realised, of something sinister yet to come.

Realising that, he paused for a brief moment before his eyes once again went to the door, his supposed gateway to renewed freedom. With all due likelihood, he probably would not get within an arm's reach of such an opportunity ever again, especially not now that he had taken out one of the akuma the Earl supposedly had stationed to keep an eye on him. Truly, he should take the opportunity which lay before him, even if he was in a pretty bad shape. After all, if he really did manage to make it out and managed to hide for long enough, he would no doubt be able to recover enough to be at least reasonably functional within a couple of days. Then again, entirely depending on the area he ended up in, he would have to adjust to new circumstances and would probably have to start hunting for his own food, something which would no doubt prove a hassle if he did not…

_No_, he cut himself off, his hand already reaching for the door handle. He would work out the details later on; he would cross that bridge when he came to it. The thing which mattered first and foremost was making his way out of there, to cut himself loose and to regain a sense of balance, both within himself and with the world. The former was something he could not do while being with the Earl, seeing that the mere presence of the man or said man's minions seemed to intensify the conflict which was still raging within him.

At this rate, it was already blatantly obvious that he was not recovering at the rate which he should have, especially so with the care he had been given. Then again, a great deal of this could be attributed to the fact that he had exerted himself, both while being held captive and in the aftermath of that, when he had lapsed into near comatose state, partially due to exhaustion and partially to try to heal his fragmented mind instead of having it break completely due to the extreme pressure it had been put under.

It was during this kind of exhaustion, both before and during his near comatose state, that he had fully tuned into the echoes all around him, presumably because his senses were more open to perceiving them while his mental defences were down, leaving him vulnerable against outer interference both on a physical plane as well as on a mental one, as had already been proven during the instances Road Camelot had entered his inner landscape without permission.

Still, he could not help but wonder at how quiet everything seemed when his senses were not constantly flooded with a seemingly never-ending stream of echoes. It was an almost eerie feeling in itself, and coupled with the sudden calling of whatever it was, it was gradually becoming unbearable.

Silence – he had more often relished in it than not, but now, it tortured him. Deprived of the echoes that had become such a great part of his perception, he felt a bit like he had suddenly gone deaf to a part of his surroundings, even though it was quite clear that at least some of his heightened perception still lingered, somehow amplifying the feeling that he had somehow lost something, and the void said thing had left behind made him ill at ease, both with himself and with his surroundings.

He could still sense things; he could still perceive them, albeit only vaguely, as if there was something out there in the air or out in the area itself which somehow muddled his perception. It was almost like he was walking through thick mist; it was harder for him to perceive his surroundings, and the air clung to him, though not because it was humid, but rather because it was heavy with something else entirely. Dark Matter…

Then again, once he thought about it, it was really no wonder he felt suffocated by the air in his surroundings, seeing that they absolutely reeked of it, something which would no doubt serve to make an accommodator of Innocence – however reluctant – noticeably ill at ease.

Then again, perhaps it was just as valid to assume that he felt this way simply because he – in both body and mind – had gradually become used to moving about with the company of not only one but several other accommodators, each of them – however unconsciously – acting as counterweights against the ever-present darkness surrounding them from all sides. Then again, gradually growing used to something and actually relishing in it was by no means the same thing, and he recalled far more than a few occasions that he had been on the verge of leaving them – intent on vanishing from their line of sight forever – only to pause in that very crucial moment, reconsidering his options.

Still, with him being the way he was – being an accommodator of Innocence and a carrier of Noah Memories to the boot – it would only make sense for him to be conflicted; it was to be expected. Then again, he had made that clear from the beginning, hadn't he? After all, he lived to betray expectations, didn't he?

His hand was still hovering just above the door handle, as he stood, indecisive. Then, he inwardly steeled himself for whatever awaited him, and laid his hand onto it, pressing it down while giving the door an experimental push, confirming something a part of him had indeed expected, but had not dared to put into thoughts.

The door – connected to the outside or not – was locked.

Once again, he gritted his teeth in frustration. He had already made it that far; he wasn't going to let something as seemingly trivial as a locked door stand in the way of him and his way out.

He felt another wave of nauseating pain creeping up on him, sagging slightly in his posture even though he was well aware of the fact that it didn't matter whether he was tense or not; the pain would strike him anyway, undiminished.

He leant against the accursed door, leaning his forehead against it, closing his eyes. While doing so, he reminded himself to breathe, even as the pain in his body steadily settled in. As usual, his head seemed the worst off. Then again, with thick bandages still tightly wound around it, it probably wasn't so strange for him to feel that way, all things considered. "Damn it…"

There it was again, that feeling of urgency seeping back into him, calling out to him. It cut through the perceived silence like a knife, and for a brief second, he thought he heard his name being called, but screwed his eyes more tightly shut instead, convinced his mind was just playing tricks on him again. Then, there it was again, a really faint fluctuation in his surroundings, and his eyes snapped back open on reflex. He broke away from the door and turned his head slightly, trying to locate the source of it.

"_Allen…"_

There was a voice, but it was so faint that it could easily have passed as a small gust of wind, a breathless whisper he nearly didn't catch.

"What is it?" he spoke quietly, not really knowing whether or not he should really expect an answer, seeing that it was entirely possible that the voice was only in his head and of no greater consequence to anything.

"_She's…"_

The small voice was followed by something akin to a sob.

"_She'll…"_

He turned his attention back to the door, holding his hand out towards it.

"Ah," he heard himself respond, feeling his lips move, taking a step towards the door so that he was once more up against it, his palms flat against it. "I know."

"_It's useless…"_

He screwed his eyes tightly shut, taking a deep breath, steeling himself as he shifted his energies, focusing them into his hands, trying to force the door before him to comply to his will. He reached inwardly, grabbing hold of the darkness within and reshaping it, driving it up towards the surface.

"_Your body won't…"_

A layer of cold sweat covered his brow, but he barely paid it any heed. His earlier invocation had undoubtedly been even more taxing for him than he had previously estimated. Already having exhausted a great deal of his reserves, calling upon his Inner Noah was dangerous, and he realised as much. If he wasn't careful, he could end up getting consumed…

Even so…

He gritted his teeth, keeping his eyes tightly shut while refocusing on the energies within, shifting them.

"Then help me," he gritted out, all while trying to retain his focus as another onslaught of migraine hit, courtesy of his Inner Noah fighting against his attempts to press it back down.

There was another fluctuation in his surroundings, alerting him to the imminent arrival of another. He was running out of time.

Then, there was another fluctuation, much closer to home, and he could feel it like a rising heat in his body. It kept rising until it felt as though his blood was on fire, and even though he wanted to curl up into himself he remained standing, feeling as though his bones would start melting on him. And then, just as suddenly as it had arisen, the feeling left him, the heat seemingly having left him, rendering him cold and desolate on the inside, yet strangely relieved all at once.

Admittedly, he was still trapped, but the fire – the pain which had up until then raged within him – had been put out, however temporarily. Evidently, he was still mildly frustrated by his situation and bodily weakness, but it – whatever it had been – had burnt away the greater part of it all, evaporating or simply vanishing, leaving him even more exhausted than he had been previously, and emotionally drained to the boot, and he was still standing before that selfsame door, the locked gate which stood in-between him and his freedom, some part of him already having resigned while the other still wavered, indecisive.

Then, after a split-second decision he was only half-conscious of having taken, he slammed the palm of his right hand into the door before him, his fingers spread wide as he focused the last ounce of power that still remained within him into it, in some way hell-bent on that he would make it work this time around, even though he had very much failed to make it to so previously. Even without him summoning it, darkness welled up within him, and it seemed almost eager to burst forth, going where he wanted it even without prompting, almost as though it was suddenly intent on aiding his escape. Very briefly, he cracked his eyes open, but screwed them back shut just as suddenly not to be pulled along with the swirl of dizzying colour the visible world had to offer.

Then, the earlier presence – one of the fluctuations he had felt – was somehow upon him, heavy to the extent that it was almost smothering.

There were words – he thought he might've heard someone talking, probably addressing him, but if there really were any, the sound of them were lost in the void – and then he felt himself crumbling to the floor, or rather, he vaguely felt his knees buckling beneath him and blatantly assumed the rest.

Truly, as weak as a newborn kitten…

Pathetic.

Weak – and temporarily blinded – but no longer deaf, as he discovered as the previously silent world came rushing back in, with echoes bouncing against unseen and likely nonexistent walls.

**- o0o -**


	39. The Thirty–Ninth Testament

_I had the thing I thought was chapter 39 proofread and ready when the Inner Editor unexpectedly turned up, tilted her head slightly to the side and suggested I'd change the order and that I'd switch it for what would have been chapter 40. Thus, here we are, for better or worse. Cheers!_

**- o0o -**

**The Thirty-Ninth Testament**

**The Fool and the Magician**

**- o0o -**

_Red. That was his name, his colour. Red, like his hair, like his deformed left hand, like his blood, like the scar on his face which had come to define him…_

_White. Like snow; like his first memory, and hair, once colour had drained from it…_

_Grey. Like his skin, along with his morals; his eyes too for that matter, when they reverted back from a vivid shade of amber, surrounding a pupil which was slit, much like that of a predator…_

_Masks, normally worn and discarded at his own convenience, but…_

_But… what?_

**- o0o -**

He felt it again, albeit vaguely, that vaguely familiar sensation of being carried on someone else's back. _Who…?_

His eyelids felt like lead, and for a brief moment, he found himself confused in regards to how he could possibly have ended up in such a state, not to mention such a situation where he was carried like a child, on a back both familiar and unfamiliar.

Still, after a while had passed – it could have been seconds, but it could very well have been minutes; with his murky perception, he found that he really couldn't tell for sure – he found that he did not need his eyes to determine the identity of the person carrying him. He already knew their scent, more familiar to him than before. _Put me down…_

The thought came automatically, an echo of a time long past. While not enjoying it by any means, he also found that he did not care much either whether or not he was being carried, seeing to the fact that he very much doubted that he would be able to stand on his own anyhow; much less walk.

Had his mind been a bit clearer, he might have wondered about what on earth the madman in question – otherwise known to the world as the Millennium Earl – could possibly be planning, seeing that the man – at least from what he was able to perceive in his current state – was once more in his humanoid appearance rather than wearing the characteristic appearance of the ever-grinning fat madman most connected to the person in question, an outer shell – likely of defensive nature, much like a full body armour like his own, except…

He blinked his eyes open somewhat sluggishly, confused at the thought. _Wait…_

"Allen?" The other paused, adjusting their grip on his still unresponsive limbs and hoisted him up ever so slightly so that he rested more securely against a back much broader than his own, his still-bandaged head resting partly on the side of their neck and partly on their shoulder. He supposed he could have tried to lift it, but even the task of shifting it ever so slightly brought a spike of pain down his spine before spreading to his limbs, causing him to inhale sharply.

His body felt like it was burning again, from the inside out, so the burning in his lungs only registered as an afterthought. Still, while dizzying, the pain also woke him up a bit and he shifted his attention away from it, focusing on his surroundings instead and mostly at the Earl as the man turned his head slightly. He could feel eyes on him then, affirming the notion that the Earl was watching him out of the corner of his eye, before the other started walking again, seemingly careful not to jostle him anymore than necessary.

"Foolish child…" That familiar voice spoke to him once more, admonishing yet tender, much like how one would imagine a parent would speak to an unruly child. The tone was vaguely familiar, but alien in regards to him, seeing that he could not recall ever having been addressed in such a manner. Then again, with his – and the Fourteenth's – memories scattered all over the place, an observation as such was by no means reliable.

He felt disoriented and nauseous, and for some reason, that type of sensation also felt very familiar and especially so within the particular context.

"What's happening to me…?" He supposed it was a natural thing to ask, seeing that he felt like shit and had been feeling that way for far too long as of late, more likely than not amplified by his latest escapade.

The Earl did not pause. "You went off and tried to do something foolish before you had recovered completely, so you had a relapse…"

"Relapse?" he tiredly echoed, cracking his eyes open to have a brief look at his surroundings before screwing them back shut. His mind – however strained – certainly registered the words, but making sense of them proved another thing altogether.

The Earl paused momentarily in his stride. "Awakening as a Noah puts a great deal of stress on the human body. In your case, due to that loathsome Innocence of yours, the stress only amplifies…"

_Stress? Innocence?_ "But…?"

"Unfortunately, extracting it from you at this point is not possible…" He did not see it, but he could still imagine a look of distaste crossing the other's features. "Your body has yet to recover from the wound inflicted on it, leaving me no other choice than to leave that vile thing alone…"

_What…? _

It took him several seconds to process the other's statement. "It keeps me… alive?"

_Why am I still…?_

"So it would seem, though I too am mystified by it," the Earl spoke, with a hint of his usual chuckle, which had up until then been mysteriously absent ever since everything had gone to Hell. "However, being the parasite it is, I suppose it doesn't want its host to perish before it has…"

_Host…_

The word was very much familiar; it reminded him of something, but he wasn't entirely sure as to what.

The other spoke, interrupting his line of thought, distracting him. "No, let's not get into that. Regardless… Should it be 'that', I will deal with it personally later on…"

"_That?"_ He wasn't even sure if he had actually spoken out loud, but an answer was delivered anyway, though he barely perceived it, making him wonder whether it had actually been voiced out loud or if it had truly been relayed in another manner altogether.

"_The Heart, child…"_

The light brush he felt against his mind more or less confirmed the latter.

"_Heart?"_ he inquired in a similar manner, vaguely taking note of the numbness of his seemingly unresponsive limbs. The wording sounded vaguely familiar to him, and he knew it held some sort of significance; he was positive he had heard it somewhere before, but he could not quite recall when and where.

"_Of Innocence… the Source, if you will."_

_The Source?_

Noticing the Earl had paused in his stride once more, Allen pried his eyes open, sluggishly taking in his surroundings before screwing them back shut again.

It was that room again; that room which had more or less been his cage for far too long. The mere sight of it sickened him somehow, and without reflecting much on it, he forced his head to the side, burrowing his aching head into the crook of the other's neck, pressing his forehead against it, feeling his own heat being reflected back at him.

"_The truth is… that I am conflicted…"_

"_Conflicted?"_

The seriousness of the other's tone did not escape him, and somehow, he found that it amused him. Thinking about it – well, as much as he could think about it, seeing that his brain did not seem to be working properly – the whole situation was strange; otherworldly even. It was as though he had accidentally ended up in some alternative universe where everything had been put on its end, and where the general rules of the world did not apply.

Then again, it was entirely possible that he had snapped already – if not a long time ago – leaving his mind broken and only partially functional. As a matter of fact, it was not only possible but also conceivable, all things considered.

"No, let's not delve into such matters…"

He found himself in a seated position on the bed, his feet dangling just slightly above the floor. Really, he couldn't help but notice it where he sat, his back hunched and his head tilted forward, half-open eyes staring at nothing in particular.

That man – no, the Earl – was in front of him, hands on his shoulders, keeping him where he was. "Regardless of which, I need you to stay put for the time being… and not do anything reckless…"

Admittedly, it was a bit too late for that, all things considered.

He averted his eyes from the spectacle, finally taking note of the strangely-coloured wallpaper which covered the walls around him, wondering why the pattern on them had not piqued his interest earlier on, at least during the times he was not on the verge of collapsing pathetically after a lesser amount of mildly strenuous activity.

"Allen?"

He continued studying the wallpaper, waiting for his head to clear while silently wondering whether it would clear at all. "I hate it…" he finally admitted, partially to himself and partially to the Earl.

"Pardon?" The hands on his shoulders tightened their grip slightly, and he tilted his head slightly as if to acknowledge the motion, experiencing an uncomfortable increase in nausea having done so.

"Being restricted…" he slowly began, not entirely sure as to what he had in mind. "I hate it…"

The Earl did not move, but there was still a shift in his immediate surroundings; he could sense as much, even with his mind in such a state. There was a shift, and it was certainly sharp enough to be noticed. "The room – you don't like it?"

"It's not the room…" It wasn't the room; he didn't care about the room. The location was irrelevant; he just felt…

"Then what is it, Allen?"

He didn't look up.

"Allen?"

He still didn't look up, but lifted his hand slowly, moving it up towards his chest to clutch the fabric of his shirt. "In here, I feel like I'm going to suffocate…"

Yes, that was it. The air – it was all…

"You want… to go outside?" The response seemed hesitant, and hinted at something else – an underlying tone of something, a warning, perhaps?

He lifted his head slightly, finally looking up into the amber eyes watching him intently. Vaguely, he recalled the insanity he had found in those eyes the first time he had looked into them, and he found it a great contrast to the seemingly honest concern which had seemingly blossomed in them, momentarily obscuring the madness he knew lay hidden beneath.

He didn't respond, lowering his eyes instead. It was pathetic, truly, but it wasn't as if glaring would actually help his case.

Then, just as suddenly, his eyes snapped back to the Earl, having detected yet another fluctuation – another spike of something – in his surroundings. Danger. Another wave of nausea slammed into him; he had to get away.

He tried to shrug the other's grip off, only to feel it tighten up until the point it was painful. There was desperation hidden within it, almost as though the Earl was afraid to let him go, seemingly under the impression he would slip away and never come back, even though the man should have been well aware of the fact that he was in no condition to go anywhere, not really.

"_Neah…"_

He shook his head – or at least tried to, at any rate – as the hands which had up until then been firmly clamped on his shoulders suddenly shifted, moving to keep his head still instead. An involuntary chill ran through him then, and he found himself shuddering slightly, feeling deeply vulnerable in the position he was, or had rather been put into. He hated it; feeling vulnerable, that is. Still, he found himself narrowing his eyes at the man in question, conveying his message through that look instead of with words. _That's not my name._

Still, there was no comprehension in those eyes, so he sincerely doubted his intended message had made it across, as the older man only leant closer, fixating him with those predatory yet strangely sorrowful eyes while those hands kept him in place.

"_Do you hate me?"_

_Hate?_

The question confused him. This man – why was there a reason for him to…?

Echoes.

"_The Millenium Earl is the enemy!"_

"_He'll…"_

"_Allen… it's your-…"_

Static.

"…_To kill-…"_

Static.

He blinked his eyes back open, unable to tell at which point in time he had closed them.

Enemies?

He had no enemies; everyone was an enemy.

In order to have enemies, first, one had to pick a side. As far as he knew, he had yet to pick his. And if he had to choose, he'd…

Only halfway aware, he raised his hand – his right one – resting it lightly on top of one of the hands that were still on the side of his head for a few moments before wearily reaching out, laying his hand against the side of the other's face, looking on as something akin to a spark of recognition showed in the other's eyes, for reasons unknown. He wasn't entirely sure as to what had sparked such a gesture, but was spared the trouble of thinking about it as there was another shift in his surroundings and something akin to a spike of energy ran through his head, following which his already dodgy vision failed completely and he felt himself sag completely in the other's grip, his limited awareness swiftly fading.

**- o0o -**


	40. The Fortieth Testament

"_Are you sure about this?"_

_I shrug mildly. "Not really."_

"_Wasn't this supposed to be a part of the Lost Testaments collection?"_

_I shrug again._

**- o0o -**

**The Fortieth Testament**

**The Solemn Seekers**

**- o0o -**

"_Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…"_

**- o0o -**

"_Ashes to ashes…"_

**- o0o -**

Though a reasonable state of normalcy had established itself amongst those still remaining, and even though the protective barrier around the Headquarters of the Asian Branch had been not only re-established but also reinforced, there was still an air of caution hanging about, amongst a lingering gloomy atmosphere thick with both the expressed and the unexpressed.

Many things had been said, just as many things had been left unsaid, and truth to be told, Bak Chan was not entirely sure as to what to say when word reached him of what had taken place on the river just a few miles away from their location. Neither did he know what to say when Kanda Yu had voiced his intention to press on and continue towards their original destination to meet up with the emissary which had been announced to arrive from Central, leaving Black Order personnel to search for his still missing companion.

Bak had sent the few he could spare to continue the search, however, it proved tedious, and after days, even he – who wanted little more than to continue – found himself on the verge of aborting it, silently cursing the seeming fruitlessness of it. Even so, he found himself unable to call it off, unable to get the image of the fidgety woman – awkward, but strangely caring – out of his head. To think that Miranda Lotto would be no more was a grim thought indeed, especially if one considered the repercussions it would have, not _if_ but _once _it reached the ears of her former companions.

Still, in the absence of actual proof of the event – no body, that is – Bak, along with his colleagues, couldn't help but hold just a sliver of hope that she – despite her confessed inability to swim – had somehow made it out alive. Still, her having made it out alive would definitely open up new possibilities, some more worrying than others. The fact that she – regardless of whether she was still alive or not – had yet to be found despite their earnest efforts increased the likelihood of her either having been captured or killed at the hands of the akuma that had ambushed them, and that – if anything – was a very frightening prospect.

Regardless of which, he found himself leaving their headquarters, making his way out to the area in question, reasoning that he himself might as well head out and take a look before abandoning the search altogether, for a bit of fresh air if nothing else.

Making his way down a mountainside in the immediate vicinity of the river, he surveyed the landscape, noting that the traces of the battle which had taken place were decidedly few. Others were scouring the landscape which lay closer to the riverbed, but he preferred staying up on higher grounds where he would be able to have a greater overview, hoping to catch the type of details that others missed.

Scientist or not, he was a man fascinated by and very much interested in solving mysteries. After all, as a scientist, it was part of his job description to seek to understand the things that were seemingly incomprehensible, to make sense of things that were more or less inexplicable. That was not to say that it was an easy task or anything; it was not and it had never been an easy task, but he had always seen it as his calling. His parents – or more specifically his mother – had sought to bring him up in a certain way, with the hopes of him one day attaining the position of supervisor, with the hopes that he would one day manage to change a few of the Order's more dubious policies. However, while he was certainly a leader, he had not risen to the challenge, choosing to focus on his position as a scientist and as the leader of the Asian Branch. In his stead, Komui – who had at the time been far more motivated to go for the position – had become what he would not.

In hindsight, he was glad he had not aimed for the position. All in all, he had been perfectly happy with his position as a branch leader, spending his days at a comfortable distance from the often stuck-up officials down in Central. Back then, he had probably been more concerned with his own achievements and in preserving some sort of independence. Now however, gradually, his aversion of the bureaucrats in charge of that place had become more and more pronounced, possibly as a result of recent events.

As a scientist, he wanted to understand the things that took place in his surroundings; he wanted to comprehend the things he saw, to critically analyse his observations and to draw his own conclusions, regardless of the dogma others would seek to have him adopt.

It was entirely possible that this curiosity of his would one day come to be his undoing, however, as a scientist – as a human being – it was something which he needed; it was something which he required in order to go on living.

Whenever something new – an anomaly – entered his normally quite sheltered surroundings, he could not help but become fascinated by it, barely able to tear his eyes away from it until he had reached some sort of understanding.

Such an anomaly – Allen Walker – had entered his world, followed by his unusual and unusually loyal companions, only to be spirited away just as swiftly. Black Order policies and practices alike should have been perfectly clear on the issue; members of the Noah family were enemies, regardless of the circumstances surrounding them. Once informed, Central had been quick to call for his execution as a heretic, leaving him – Bak Chan – to stall what had seemed inevitable.

Still, there had been something wistful about the other's expression. No anger or resentment, just… wistfulness, as if the other had been very much aware of his comrades' seemingly futile attempts to set him free. Then again, that wistful expression had belonged to what could only be presumed to be Allen Walker's alter ego.

Red – whoever he had been and however he had come about – seemed to be very much aware of his surroundings, possibly even to the extent that he harboured some sort of telepathic link – one-sided or not – with his companions or with people in general.

In the end, it didn't matter where such abilities had come from, not at the present at any rate. Still, if the other had really been capable of perceiving events beyond his reach, Bak found himself wondering whether or not the other could possibly be watching him even then. However, being the scientist that he was, he was quick to discard the notion with the lack of evidence of such. Besides, he did not feel like he was being watched, and overall, he saw little reason for the other to seek him out. If anything – if Allen Walker had not forsaken all that he had been previously – the white-haired teen would not pay him much heed; the other's focus would no doubt be on his comrades, if he was not all too occupied elsewhere. After all, there was really no telling how the other was faring in the Earl's custody. After all, there was really no…

He looked up suddenly, alerted by a call from afar.

"Branch Leader Bak!" one of his subordinates positioned closer to the riverbed shouted, waving him over. "We've found something!"

He swiftly made his way over, adjusting his pace to the downhill terrain as he preferred not to stumble and tumble down the mountain if he could avoid it.

He didn't ponder what they could possibly have found, resolving to figure that out once he laid eyes on it.

Once he made it, he stood frozen, his eyes trained on the damp piece of heavy black cloth which had been pulled out of the water, immediately identifying it as the remains of an exorcist coat. Could it possibly be…?

He shook his head, dispersing the thought. He crouched down next to it, lifting it slightly so that he would be able to grasp it by its front, focusing his attention on the silver buttons there, reaching for one and pulling it out with a single resolute tug, fingers grasping the thing tightly for a brief moment before turning it over, resting his eyes on the name he knew would be there, part of him hoping it would not be the one which was to be expected, all things considered.

He read the name which had been carved there, on the back of the button, his eyes widening a fraction, seeing but not really comprehending. The thing he saw and the name he perceived was not the one he had both expected and feared, not by any means…

"_Suman… Dark?"_

**- o0o -**

Water…

There were echoes of droplets of water impacting on a hard surface – stone, perhaps – of some cramped space, cold and damp. She heard them, but only vaguely, but first and foremost, she felt them, as a drop of water repeatedly impacted on her cheek, slowly but certainly bringing her back into a realm of consciousness. For a brief moment, she thought she heard a voice, a lingering echo just beyond what her own ears could perceive, but she found herself shrugging it off.

Experimentally, she cracked an eye open, and was soon able to confirm what she had already suspected – that she was lying in some sort of wet gravel in what appeared to be a dark cave, half of her face pressed against the ground. She was able to confirm as much, even if her eyes felt swollen as though she had been crying for days to no end, and, as she was soon to discover, her tongue seemed to be faring in a similar manner.

There was a foul taste in her mouth, bitter and sour as well as salty, and she – her most recent memories being those of a near drowning – wondered whether or not it was actually because of all the water she had swallowed.

Within moments, she sat herself up, or rather attempted to do so, surveying her dark surroundings through a dishevelled fringe of hair which had yet to dry, leaving her to wonder just how much time – or just how little – had come to pass while she had been down under. Her clothes – the uniform she had recently been drafted with – also clung to her in a similar manner, cold and damp against her skin.

'_Where am I?'_ she wondered quietly, cradling her aching head. Then, she looked up suddenly, her mind finally caught onto a distinct something – or rather, someone – who was nowhere in sight. She looked around for her companion, dreading the thought of both his presence and the one of his absence, but found no traces of him in her immediate surroundings.

For a brief moment, she thought about calling out to him, but bit her lip, aware of the possibilities that there were akuma nearby and that she should not alert them if there were. Self-consciousness growing by the second, she reached for her pocket watch, only to find herself groping thin air. Realisation struck, and with it, the slowly simmering panic she had been experiencing up until then heightened noticeably. _Where…?_

"Looking for this?"

She startled at the sudden unfamiliar voice in the darkness, and found herself cringing as someone – presumably the voice's owner – struck a match, lighting up the cave ever so slightly. Even so, the clumsiness of the other's movements did not escape her, and when the stranger a moment later lit some sort of lantern which had up until then been hidden in some dark corner of the cave, she noticed the sling which cradled a blackened limb against a shabby-looking coat which looked vaguely reminiscent of an exorcist's coat, but clearly lacked any distinguishing marks of the real thing.

The stranger – exorcist or not, she was positive she had never laid eyes on him – held up her treasured pocket watch, and she suppressed a sudden notion to crawl forward and snatch it, opting to watch the other warily instead, hoping and praying that the man – because it was obviously a man, albeit a seemingly uncouth and unshaven one – was no enemy of hers. It was a feeble hope, truly, but it was all she had, other than her own life.

"I am not an enemy," the stranger responded, as if he could read her thoughts from looking at her face. "But, I am not a friend either."

She continued to watch him, all while numerous emotions – some of which conflicted greatly with each other – fought for control. "Who are you?" she eventually asked after much hesitation, hoping the question would not test the other's patience.

"No one," the stranger responded, getting to his feet. "I am already dead after all, and I would like to stay that way for now."

"Dead?" she found herself echoing, frozen in her spot as the stranger approached, crouching down before her, grabbing one of her hands in a somewhat heavy-handed grip and forcing her hand open, depositing the pocket watch onto her palm. She stared at him in open confusion as he swiftly withdrew, his face seemingly devoid of expression. "But…"

"A week ago, I was a dead man walking," the stranger said, picking up the lantern, seemingly intent on making his departure. "Then, drifting between life and death, I struck a deal with a white-haired amber-eyed demon for another shot at life…"

Her eyes widened, and she sat up straighter, disbelief written all over her features. "You met Allen?"

The nameless stranger pulled a slight face, as if he was disgusted by the familiarity she displayed with the demon he had just described. "I am not on any first name basis with demons," he then said, seemingly headed towards an unseen exit. "How I ended up in his realm of dreams is irrelevant, but he possessed the power to save me, and agreed to do so, in exchange for a favour… a life for a life. According to his wishes, I followed you and your companion, and pulled you out of the river. Thus, I shall henceforth consider my debt repaid in full, and should you ever happen upon him, then tell him that…"

_Happen upon… Allen?_

She opened her mouth, but her throat felt constricted, and before she was able to ask the question she had been intending to ask, the other had already disappeared into what looked like a tunnel, the light of the lantern growing fainter for each step. Somewhat shakily, she got to her feet, taking step forward and nearly immediately breaking into a stumble before she managed to catch herself onto something – a rock, perhaps?

A breathless "Wait!" finally exited her mouth, but the other either did not hear her or deliberately ignored her, as the light of the small lantern flickered once-twice-trice before seemingly going out altogether, leaving her in complete darkness.

The darkness – she didn't like it. Being alone – she liked that one even less. In combination with an already lingering feeling of confinement to a cold, damp, dark and undeniably cramped space, she found a sudden bout of claustrophobia adding to her general feeling of panic. She was in a cave, alone, with the sound of droplets of water as her sole company.

The exit – she needed to find it, but how?

She clutched the pocket watch – it was back in its usual place, hanging around her neck – screwing her eyes tightly shut. She suppressed a sudden desire to call out, knowing well that she had to be strong, not only for her own sake, but for the sake of the others as well. She couldn't always look towards them for help, but… being alone was…

"_I just…"_

"_I just wanted to prove myself useful… that I wasn't a burden…"_

"_But I…"_

"_Allen."_

Another droplet fell from somewhere, impacting on the back of her neck. It made her look up in surprise, her eyes snapping open as a reflex. Unsurprisingly, she found herself back in the darkness of the cave, alone, and the feelings of claustrophobia steadily returned, even though her mind kept telling her that there was obviously a way out of it all, somewhere.

"_**Miranda?"**_

She faltered in her step. Her outreached hand only just then having found the wall, and she found herself taking support from it, eyes widening with shock. "Allen?" she found herself croaking, scanning her surroundings for signs of the other, even though she realised that such a thing should have been impossible.

If Timothy's guess had been correct, then Allen should be in Edo, in Japan. Thus, it should have been impossible for him to be there, right next to her. Still, even while knowing that, she still heard the voice, echoing further away, sounding like it came from the pathway that other exorcist had disappeared down.

"How?" she said, continuing to lean onto the wall for support. "If you are really Allen, prove it. Prove… prove to me that I'm not just going crazy…"

Her own voice echoed against unseen walls. It sounded strange to her – distorted even – to the extent that she barely even recognised it. "Prove it," she repeated, that strange voice echoing back against her. "Are you Allen?"

Her question echoed off into silence, and for a while, she wondered whether or not she would actually get a response. However, just as she was about to discard it all as some sort of auditory hallucination, there was a sound somewhere in the darkness. She wasn't entirely sure of it at first, but then it – whatever it was – sounded again.

**- o0o -**

_"You play the piano?"_

_He stood by the piano – it was a rare sight for her, yet she found that she could hardly picture him anywhere else. It was a strange thing; she felt like he belonged there somehow. Even so, he looked surprised and she thought she had caught a glimpse of something else in there as well before seeming indifference took its place. Guilt? Shame? Did Allen even…?_

_"…I do play, occasionally, though I'd rather not…"_

_He looked towards the instrument, his tone of voice hinting at some type of amusement._

_"…I can't say that I'm any good at it either…"_

_She had asked him to play something for her, earning a wry smile and a __"…I'll try". His face had been turned away from her then, and as such, she hadn't caught the underlying hint held in his expression, a very telling narrowing of the eyes._

_The statement of him not being any good was a lie; whenever he played, he played like a genius, albeit a possessed one at that. There was an ongoing conflict in his movements; an ongoing battle between a part of him that loved to play and the part of him that hated it. Nevertheless, his movements were always elegant, fluid to the extent that they seemed ingrained, like a part of his very nature. Even so, even though he by all means looked and moved like he had been a part of that kind of landscape for a long time, there was still something which hinted that he was a stranger to it all, someone who had stepped into it to replace another. It was a strange thought, she realised as much, but all in all, she couldn't help but wonder if it didn't all make a whole lot of sense somehow…_

_Then, the captivating music which had risen from the instrument had been brought to a sudden stop, and she had found herself looking towards him with worry.__ The colour had drained from his face, and there was just a slight tremor in his frame. Back then, she had only worried; she had not understood the reason for his strange behaviour, yet at that moment, she wondered how on earth she could have possibly missed it._

_Fear._

_Allen had loved the piano, yet hated and feared it at the same time._

_He had feared it; fearing the influence it clearly held over him, or perhaps just fearing the mere thought of no longer being in control._

_Fear…_

_Such a strange notion…_

_It did not at all suit him._

**- o0o -**

_Allen…_

"Prove it," she repeated once more. "Are you Allen?"

The strange sound echoed throughout the cave again. Hesitantly, she took another step towards the place she thought to be the source of it, followed by yet another. Then, her previously pitch-black surroundings seemed to lighten up a bit as there was glimpse of ethereal light before the source of it disappeared around a corner, and out of her sight.

She hesitated only briefly before trying to approach it once again. She rounded the corner, only to have it disappear once again. She paused in her stride, exhaustion creeping back into her limbs. "Wait," she called, her voice barely rising above a whisper.

Was it afraid of her? Or was it merely toying with her?

Without really knowing why, she lowered herself into a slight crouch, extending her hand slightly towards it. "You don't need to be afraid," she whispered. "I am more afraid of you than you are of me…"

There it was again, a slight flicker before it was gone again. For a brief moment, she imagined herself hearing the sound of small feet against the cave's floor, moving away from her, but she did not pursue it. She remained in her position, waiting – for what exactly, she did not know, but she knew that she was waiting for something.

Then, after several moments, she heard the steps again, moving closer to her this time around, and as they did, the light she had seen earlier grew closer, illuminating the walls around her. Then, something peeked around the corner swiftly before once again withdrawing. She only caught a brief glimpse of it, yet she felt like her heart was going to stop inside her chest. It was a strange feeling, but it wasn't fear; it was something else…

Then, without the sound of steps or anything, it was suddenly right in front of her.

"You are…"

It was small; she immediately realised that. It was a short hooded figure all dressed in white, wearing a familiar mask, surrounded by a strange ethereal shimmer. It wasn't Allen; it was…

She found herself reaching forward, trying to keep her hands from trembling as they neared the mask with the intention of dislodging it. Truly, it should have been a pointless gesture; the figure in front of her was not solid, or at least it shouldn't have been. Still, the figure stumbled backwards, startled by her sudden action, but it did not run away. For a brief moment, she thought she saw eyes looking back at her from beneath the mask, but was that really…?

Then, the figure went eerily still, and it seemed to look at her with something akin to wonder. Then, slowly, it reached up, dislodging the mask from its face and lowering it, much like Allen had done at some point for what seemed to be such a long time ago. A child's face met her eye, and wide childlike eyes met hers, unwavering, and she suddenly knew; she just did.

Suddenly, there was a smile on her face, hesitant but very much there. "You are the one who asked him, weren't you?" she said. "Because Allen wanted it…"

Innocence was affected by one's will and emotions. Timothy had told her that his Innocence, Tsukikami, took the form of his older self. But, in such case, why did Allen's take the form of a child? And why was it capable of moving around, without Allen?

Noticing movement out of the corner of her eye, she turned her focus back to the child. It pointed towards something unseen further down the pathway, flickering once-twice-trice before disappearing altogether, leaving her in pitch-black damp darkness once more.

**- o0o -**


	41. The Forty–First Testament

_I'm currently in the middle of a whole lot of things._

_As for the next chapter, expect it within a week._

_Cheers._

**- o0o -**

**The Forty-First Testament**

**The Bridges Yet to Cross**

**- o0o -**

_"Foolish child…"_

**- o0o -**

_"You want… to go outside?"_

**- o0o -**

"_Neah…"_

**- o0o -**

"_Do you hate me?"_

**- o0o -**

Amber-coloured eyes cracked open.

Once again, he found himself surveying an unfamiliar ceiling.

His head seemed to much clearer now, so it did not take very long for him to come to the conclusion that it was a different ceiling than the one in the room which had previously confined him. The style was also entirely different, but the longer he looked at it, he found it strangely familiar, in all its seeming simplicity.

He turned his head to the side, catching sight of sliding doors, vaguely recognising them as ones belonging to the room featured in the twilight scenery he had first stepped into upon exiting the Ark's gate.

"Milord, you're awake."

The sliding doors were pushed aside, revealing a subserviently kneeling akuma which bowed deeply at the sight of him where he lay, watching it in silence. _"This place is…"_

The aforementioned akuma – wearing the shape of a common English maid which looked very much out of place considering the Eastern air of their surroundings – seemingly startled, a hand flying to her head for a brief moment before once again placing her hands down on the floor before her while lowering her head. "This is the Duke's castle in Edo, milord."

He said nothing, his eyes once again on the ceiling.

"Milord, I'll go fetch some food in a moment. Will you be requiring anything else?"

He closed his eyes briefly before responding, actually moving his lips this time around. "No."

The sliding doors were pushed back shut, and having heard that, his eyes immediately snapped back open and he rolled onto his side, making it into a half-seated position before another surge of headache struck. However, he took note of the fact that it was by no means in the same league as the ones he had been experiencing as of late. Thus, it was only a matter of seconds before he had managed to rise to his feet – albeit unsteadily – and begun making his way over to the thin paper-covered screens he knew served as the outer walls, pushing them aside to reveal a moderately sized enclosed garden.

Within it, there was a pond and standing on top of one of the stones surrounding it stood a disgustingly familiar individual with a wildly struggling carp held between his teeth. Upon noticing the unintentional scrutiny, the other saluted him before finally pulling the fish from his mouth to greet him. "Yo, I heard he finally let you out," the other said, throwing the fish back into the pond. "How're you feeling, Boy?"

_Disgusted._ "I was feeling fine, until I saw you."

"Aw, that's a bit cold of you, isn't it?" the other said, straightening up. "We've been through so much together…"

He remained where he was, still leaning against the sliding doors ever so slightly in case his balance would fail him. "You strangled me," he finally responded, deadpan. "I don't take too kindly to people trying to kill me."

The other turned towards him, tilting his head slightly to the side. "So I've heard. Then again, in such case, you should consider us even…" he said, stepping down from the stone and onto a patch of green moss and then onto the nearby narrow pathway made out of flattened stones. "You might not be able to recall, but you paid that one back with interest back in China. Had I not had my excellent reflexes, then I would've been the one in trouble…"

Allen said nothing as the other approached, stopping only right in front of the slightly elevated porch upon which he stood, observing him. A look of utter dismay crossed his face for a brief moment, though it was fleeting, and he soon averted his eyes, letting them wander around the room before apparently coming to a decision, pushing the screens back shut behind him before once again levelling his eyes on the other, who had by then taken a seat on the porch, dangling his legs over the edge of it. "Why are you here, Tyki Mikk?"

"Why shouldn't I be here?" Tyki Mikk wondered out loud, and at Allen's seeming lack of response, he tilted his head slightly so that he got a better look at him. "Not working, huh?"

Allen still did not respond, and the other merely shrugged at that, turning his head so that he was once again able to study the scenery unhindered. "Well…" the other eventually yielded. "If you must know, the Duke wanted someone to keep an eye on you, and since I am by no means in his good graces at the moment, I just happened to get saddled with the task…"

"What?" Tyki went on after several moments of continued silence, giving him another look out of the corner of his eye. "You're not curious enough to ask why?"

Allen still did not respond, but came to another decision altogether when he left his post and took the few steps necessary until he reached the edge of the porch, taking a seat on it well away from the other, ensuring there were at least a metre and a half's distance between their respective positions before finally answering. "Not really."

"Well, it's too bad for you then, Boy…" Tyki responded, his expression hinting at a certain amusement over the teen's seeming aversion of him. "Because I might decide to tell you anyway…"

"Spare me," Allen returned, deadpan, studying the landscape with disinterest.

"No can do, I'm afraid," the other said, seemingly taking his frank rejection in stride while reaching into his pocket for something, pulling it out and flipping it over, showing it to him. "See this?"

Allen deliberately ignored him.

Having been paid no heed, Tyki saw an excuse to scoot closer, still holding up a small card for him to see, and he finally looked, if for nothing else then to ensure that the other did not draw any closer.

"This is guy here is the Cell Roron, otherwise known as the Prisoner of the List Cage," Tyki explained, actually going as far as to hold the card out for him to take. "He keeps track of the list of people the Duke wants to see… eliminated."

Allen reached out, snatching it quickly from the other before bringing it before his eyes, looking at the bars painted in it and watching the pathetic-looking creature moving about behind them. "So?" he said, holding the card out for the other to retrieve.

Tyki swiftly reclaimed it. "Well, you see… some of these names have a higher priority than others, and there's one person in particular of those that continues to elude me…"

Reaching into his pocket again, Tyki seemingly deposited the card in it before pulling out something else – a folded piece of paper – in its stead, unfolding it. "Cross Marian, exorcist general. We've got a photograph of him and everything, but I just keep coming up with dead ends… and then, the situation concerning you came up, and I was temporarily dropped from the case… Now however, our sources claim that the man has recently arrived here, in Japan… thus, the Earl's getting a bit… you basically get what I'm saying, right?"

Allen let his eyes wander. "More or less…"

Still, something ought to have changed in his expression, as he heard the other shift next to him before thrusting the now unfolded piece of paper into his face. "This guy – you know him?"

He recoiled slightly and resolutely pushed the other's hand further away from him, and this time around, he didn't bother to put much effort into hiding his disgust. However, as he noticed the undeniably curious tilt of the other's head, he let go of the other's hand and held up one of his own to prevent an even greater invasion of his personal space, trying to detach himself from it all. "Once," he said, keeping both his voice and his expression neutral. "He had his fingers wrapped around my throat and his gun pressed to my temple…"

"Hoh?" The other eyed the held-out hand with a fair deal of amusement. "However did you get yourself out of that one?"

However did he get himself out of that one anyway?

Momentarily at a loss, the held-out hand fell back to his side and he found himself blinking. Then, a moment or so later, the memory fell back into place and his eyes darted off to study the stirring surface of the pond, thoughtfully watching the shimmering reflections of morning sunlight move about within it, obscuring the fair number of carps – recently having been reduced – that swam beneath it. "…I think I might've stabbed him or something, but that could've been later…"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw how the other – who had been in the middle of trying to light a cigarette – stiffened and the still unlit cigarette fell from the other's mouth as it hung slightly open in seeming disbelief. "You stabbed him?!" Tyki paused to pick the cigarette back up and to collect himself slightly. "Whoa, I'd love to see that sort of thing…"

Allen shot him a look of distaste. "There should still be a recording… since Cross' golem was there…"

"Seriously?" Tyki whistled. "I kind of want to get my hands on that…"

_Do as you like, moron._

"So," Tyki continued, either oblivious to the silent remark or simply intent on ignoring it. "I take it you and that guy didn't hit it off that well, did you?"

_A severe understatement…_

Allen snorted. "As long as he stays the Hell away from me, I don't really care…"

"Still," Tyki went on, his tone bland but nevertheless intrigued. "Why did he take such an interest in you? Because he had you figured out as the Fourteenth?"

"Who knows?" He didn't know; he didn't know and it didn't matter, because he didn't care. Everything else, it was just trivia. "The first time around, he asked my name and told me to stay the Hell away from the guy I was travelling with. The second time… I think he told me to become an exorcist…"

"And then you stabbed him," Tyki added, a hint of disbelief still colouring his voice.

Allen just shrugged. "I claim self-defence."

"Come on… really?" An exasperated sigh met him. "I have to say, you don't really strike me as the type. Then again, having nearly suffered the brunt of what you can do when you're cornered, I think I should probably revise my opinion a bit…"

"Do as you like," Allen returned, his tone flat.

The other sent another curious look his way. "You know… you're a pretty strange guy…"

"Look who's talking," he shot back without skipping a beat.

"And rude too…" Tyki thoughtfully added, shifting slightly in his position where he sat, leaning forward. "You know, I saved your ass in India."

Allen didn't turn his head, keeping his eyes trained on the gleaming surface and his expression neutral. "Because you were just conveniently around, ready to step in the very moment things went to Hell…"

"That's what is called a lucky coincidence," the other quipped, and only then did Allen tear his eyes from the gleaming waters, looking towards him, narrowing his eyes slightly.

"Coincidence?"

Intentional or not, that single word was so drenched in sarcasm it was a wonder it did not dissolve in it, and obviously, from the slightly awkward shift of his unwelcome companion, it had not passed by unnoticed.

"Okay, so maybe not," Tyki yielded, scratching the back of his head all while a hint of something akin to approval entered his voice. "Though I have to say that I'm surprised you figured that one out…"

_Obviously._

"Alright, fine! It wasn't a coincidence! That thing with the elephants – it was staged to cause some chaos and destruction… But, then you stepped in and ruined it all. As you probably already know, there were akuma hiding out in the crowd, ready to strike once the shit hit the fan…"

_Using the chaos…_

"It wasn't my plan, but I was in the area and called the thing off once you'd jumped into the fray. That was a stupid thing to do, by the way…"

_No shit._

"Then again, in hindsight, I probably shouldn't have. After all, you would no doubt have been easier to retrieve back then… without interference."

_Don't count on it._

"By the way, speaking of those odd former companions of yours…"

This time around, he actually looked up, levelling his eyes on the other as the latter went quiet, seemingly reconsidering his choice of topic.

"On second thought, you probably don't want to know…"

Again, amber-coloured eyes narrowed slightly. "They're not as weak as you think they are. If anything, they're very stubborn."

"Stubborn… or merely single-minded?" A snicker was heard beside him. "In any case, you sure know how to pick them…"

Allen snorted. "I just happened upon them. They were the ones who picked me."

Tyki's smirk broadened slightly. "But you didn't shake them off."

Allen said nothing, his eyes once again resting on the pond's surface.

"Don't get me wrong though," the other responded, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "There's nothing wrong with hanging out with human every once in a while. Most of us do. I mean, you've already met my human companions and all. However, getting all cosy with future exorcists is a bit…"

There was another pause, and then, Tyki Mikk levelled him with a slightly calculating look. "You do realise that you're very likely to meet as enemies one of these days, right?"

Allen returned the look with one of indifference before averting his eyes once more. "In order for us to meet as enemies…I first have to pick sides…"

"In other words," Tyki said, watching him intently. "Right now… you're just sitting on the fence."

Allen's eyes remained on the glimmering surface, watching it stir as the mostly unseen fishes moved about beneath it. "Right now, I'm a neutral party."

"Not a prisoner?" the other returned, very much amused from the sound of it.

He just shrugged mildly in response, pulling one of his knees closer to himself, leaning against it. "If I had picked you lot as my enemies, I would be calling myself a prisoner."

In order to have enemies, one first had to pick sides. He had no enemies; everyone was an enemy.

"Besides…" he continued, giving the other a sideways look. "Even if you did have some halfway formulated plan to knock me out and slip away while everyone else was busy dealing with the akuma attacking the barrier, you didn't. Instead, I planted my foot in your face, and came along at least halfway willingly. So, not a prisoner."

The other continued to level him with a look, wearing an expression which by no means disguised the other's amusement. "But the Earl did keep you cooped up for quite a few days, didn't he?"

Yes, in that suffocating room with strangely-coloured wallpaper covered in patterns both familiar and unfamiliar.

He didn't respond, but lifted his head slightly, his senses picking up on something moving about. In the next moment, he heard sliding doors on the room's farthest end be pushed aside, following which something was carefully deposited on the floor before the door was pushed back shut and barely audible steps continued down the corridor, seemingly in a hurry.

Next to him, Tyki Mikk got to his feet – he only really then took note of that they were bare – moving to push the screens aside. "They're afraid of you, you know, but still curious," he said, retrieving the tray of food which had been left at the other end of the room, putting it down next to him where he sat. "Because of your overflowing Noah aura… and because of _that_…"

Allen didn't respond.

"Your friends… you worry about them, don't you?"

He finally looked at him, then at the food and then back again. "What are you trying to get at?"

"Well…" The other both looked and sounded somewhat thoughtful, taking a seat. "Ah, never mind. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

Amber-coloured eyes looked at the food, then at him and then back at the food, and he picked up a pair of chopsticks from the tray, vaguely recognising them for what they were and mimicking a grip he knew he had seen somewhere. "…I suppose."

**- o0o -**


	42. The Forty–Second Testament

_Chapter 42, in which Allen finds himself in a bit of a situation and seemingly consults Hamlet (in bold writing) on what to do with his life…_

**- o0o -**

**The Forty-Second Testament**

**The ****Prodigal Son**

**- o0o -**

"_We're getting closer."_

**- o0o -**

"_Chomesuke, how much further until we reach Edo?"_

**- o0o -**

"_A few kilometres… I think."_

**- o0o -**

"_Timmy, has Cross moved?"_

**- o0o -**

"_Timothy?"_

**- o0o -**

"_He's moving around all the time, but it's within a limited area."_

**- o0o -**

"_In other words, he's still in Edo, right?"_

**- o0o -**

"_Yes."_

**- o0o -**

"_And so is… Allen Walker, am I right?"_

**- o0o -**

"_You don't have to answer that…" _

**- o0o -**

"_Because you'd rather be a__ heretic than a hypocrite, right?"_

**- o0o -**

"_By the way… is it here right now?"_

**- o0o -**

"_No. But it's not far away."_

**- o0o -**

"_How can you tell?"_

**- o0o -**

"_It's weird, but somehow, I feel like it's out there…"_

**- o0o -**

"_Does Allen know we're here?"_

**- o0o -**

"_I'd be surprised if he didn't."_

**- o0o -**

"_Do you think he'll tell the Earl?"_

**- o0o -**

"_He wouldn't, but…"_

**- o0o -**

"_But…?"_

**- o0o -**

"_If he tries to deliver a message to us and the Earl catches him, then…"_

**- o0o -**

"_Hey, cheer up, little guy. It'll all work out… somehow."_

**- o0o -**

"_And if it doesn't?"_

**- o0o -**

"You look a whole lot better than you did yesterday. Your colour, that is."

He looked up briefly, acknowledging the other's presence before once again levelling his eyes on the book held in his hands where he sat in one of the room's corners, leaning his back against the wall, turning the page before resuming his reading. "I feel better, somewhat."

At some point in time, a pile of ageing tomes had been left outside the room's entrance, and having little else to waste his time on while still recovering, he found himself engrossed in them. Normally books weren't within his general realm of interest, but with his restricted mobility, he found himself absorbed in them, if for nothing else then to pass the time and to brush up on his reading skills, seeing to the fact that he rarely had that many opportunities to actually use them.

Most of the books were in English, but he noted with some degree of wry amusement that there were ones in German as well, along with ones filled with signs he could only presume were in Chinese. He quickly discarded the latter once having determined that those signs still meant nothing to him, and after having determined that the German ones were all on different fairytales, he discarded those as well, leaving him stuck with the English ones, some of which were more interesting than others.

Still, of all things, he never did expect to end up in Edo, passing his time reading Shakespeare, and _Hamlet_ of all things. Truly, it was almost funny…

"The Earl has asked to see you."

He looked up, watching the other watching him, before turning his attention back towards the book in his hands, turning another page. "If he wants to see me, he can come see me. I'd rather not step back into that thing if I can avoid it."

Tyki Mikk, having approached and crouched down next to him, tilted his head slightly to the side. "Hoh? The Ark?"

He turned over another page. "It's an interesting construct, I'll admit as much. However, I'd rather stay here in this compound than venture back into it…"

"Hoh…" The other continued eyeing him with keen interest. "Mind if I ask why? That thing is the supposed Cradle of Humanity, you know?"

_Cradle of Humanity?_

He slammed the book shut, closing his eyes briefly. "If I have to describe it, it feels… stale."

Stale, and very much stagnant, much like the memories held within him, at least up until the point when things had been set in motion, causing previously sleeping darkness to stir.

"Stale?" the other curiously enquired.

With some degree of effort, he rose to his feet with the book still in hand. "The rooms, the pathways, the air itself… it feels like I'm going to suffocate…"

"A bit on the claustrophobic side then, are you?" the other noted with wry amusement, straightening up.

"Who knows?"

"Speaking of troubling matters…" the other continued, stepping towards the room's exit. "The rumour has it that a bunch of exorcists have arrived at our shores maybe a day or so ago, and that they're headed towards us."

"…Hoh?" Allen responded, a decent imitation of the other's usual response.

"You don't seem very surprised." The other smiled wryly. "However, it has yet to be determined whether they're aiming for Cross Marian or us. If it's the latter… well, go figure."

"Still," Tyki went on, pausing at the exit. "That having been said, do you think they'll be able to reach this place in one piece – your companions, that is?"

Allen just shrugged mildly, book still in hand. "They're fools, but a persistent lot."

"Hoh…" There was something positively devious about the look the other shot him. "Waiting for them to turn up and save you, are you?"

He snorted in response. "As I believe I told you back when I first laid eyes on you, I am far beyond the point of redemption, even more so now than I was back then…"

"Either way," Tyki responded, seemingly unconcerned. "They're dead meat if they try to sneak into this place, and even more so if they try to sneak into the Ark. The Earl can be a very territorial man when he wants to be… Possessive too, as you should have already figured…" – Allen barely refrained from wincing at this – "Because, you know… we're technically family and all, to him at any rate."

"But not to each other?" Allen questioned.

"It really depends from person to person, I'd say," Tyki responded, motioning for him to follow. "We're all technically a kind of siblings, I suppose, with the genes and all… But I do have an older brother, and by blood too, unfortunately…"

"Unfortunately?" Allen echoed, following along.

"Sheryl Camelot. Political hotshot."

"Camelot?"

"He adopted Road, hence Road Camelot," Tyki clarified. "And as you've probably already figured, he's also a Noah."

"You don't get along." It wasn't a question.

"Nope. He's got a terrible personality," Tyki said with a strange mixture of distaste and wry amusement. "However, I doubt you'll see him around much since he's mostly busy with the British Empire at the moment – and thank God for that, however… sacrilegious that may sound."

"And this concerns me how?"

"Well…" the other sounded rather thoughtful as they continued down the corridor. "I can't say that I'm all too sure about the specifics, but there's obviously the matter with the Fourteenth. He – as well as the rest of us except Road and the Earl – apparently got killed off by the Fourteenth thirty-something years ago. Thus, it is very possible that he – along with a few of the others – is prone to hold some sort of grudge…"

"Which you don't?"

The older Noah shrugged mildly. "I have no memories of the incident in question, so I really fail to see why. Besides, I wasn't there at the time and neither were you, and as such, it really makes no sense to hold a grudge against the one succeeding the real culprit."

Allen's steps came to a sudden stop, and Tyki soon followed, pausing in his stride and turning his head slightly, looking back as if to see what had kept him. "He – the Fourteenth – he really got twelve of you?"

"Yep," Tyki easily admitted, turning around more fully. "Don't ask me how though, or why for that matter. If anyone ever learns the answer, that'll probably be you."

Allen retained his silence for a moment, levelling the other with an evaluating look before snorting and averting his eyes once more. "So," he said. "In other words, the reason why you're here to keep an eye on me isn't only to make sure I don't decide to leave, but also to make sure that none of the other Noah turns up to murder me in my sleep?"

_Or to monitor my condition in order to be able to subdue me, should I go in the footsteps of my predecessor…_

The other also fell silent, a brief look of surprise crossing his features before melting into something else altogether, intermingling with wry amusement. "That… would be one way of putting it, I suppose," he said.

Allen remained where he was, deadpan. "Splendid."

"Still, no comment on the akuma?" Tyki enquired, seemingly keen on humouring him. "They are the Earl's hands and legs after all…"

"Hands and legs of the Earl or not, they are still bound to obey members of the Noah Family, are they not?" Allen responded, still not moving from his spot.

"Yep," Tyki confirmed, hands shoved into his pockets, slouching ever so slightly. "Though I'm surprised you knew that."

"I didn't," Allen dryly returned. "You just confirmed it for me."

"Clever," the other yielded.

"I do try, occasionally," Allen bit back.

"But only occasionally?" the other questioned, earning a snort.

"Hey, don't give me that," Tyki went on, seemingly admonishing him. "You're the one who said it."

"Either way," he continued when Allen failed to provide a decent response. "Things are probably going to get busy from now on… with you here and with Cross Marian and those other exorcists running around…"

He paused briefly, studying Allen's expression with a greater deal of interest. "Hoh? Something on your mind?"

Allen finally looked back up at him, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Why is that bastard headed here in the first place?"

"Who knows?" Tyki shrugged. "I've never met the man. However, if Edo is his destination, then he's probably going to target the Ark…"

"For what purpose?"

The other did not answer, moving along. "He's not going to have an easy time on entering that one, seeing that we monitor the gates pretty closely… from the outside at any rate…"

"Then again, he seems like a sneaky guy, so maybe he would be able to sneak in… but either way, it's not like he'd be able to do much…" Tyki continued, stopping briefly yet again to level him with a meaningful look. "Out of all the Noah, only Road and the Earl can control the Ark. Then again, then there was the Fourteenth…"

"You think I'm going to be targeted?"

"There's always a possibility – a risk – I suppose," Tyki responded. "Hence, I suppose it'd only make sense if the Earl wanted to keep you well on the inside to avoid the risk – however slight – of him getting to you…"

Allen shifted slightly, narrowing his eyes. "In other words, you're not only my keeper, but also my bodyguard?"

Tyki smiled wryly in response. "I thought you said you didn't consider yourself a prisoner?"

"'_Guard_', then," he amended. "That one should work both ways…"

"I suppose," the older Noah said. "Are you coming or not?"

**- o0o -**

"_It'll all work out… somehow."_

**- o0o -**

"_And if it doesn't?"_

**- o0o -**

"_Hey, he's your friend."_

**- o0o -**

"_I wonder how the others are doing…"_

**- o0o -**

"_They should be doing fine. Crowley's with Tiedoll and the others, and even though Kanda can be a bit… you know… I don't think he'd leave her behind."_

**- o0o -**

"_Look, I know the both of you don't get along… but he's not a bad guy."_

**- o0o -**

"_I'll believe that one when I see it."_

**- o0o -**

"_Fair enough…"_

**- o0o -**

A door was pushed open, and he was greeted by the sight of a round table surrounded by distinctive chairs of which only some were occupied, and which occupants were all looking towards them with expressions spanning all the way from honest delight – courtesy of Road – to a mixture of surprise and loathing from some of the others.

"Alas," A long-haired man with a monocle and the general looks and manners of an English nobleman announced. "The prodigal son has returned."

"…Prodigal how?" Tyki enquired where he stood beside Allen.

The Noah in question opened his mouth, likely with the intention of delivering another crisp comment, but his mouth snapped back shut as there was a sudden spike of energy in the room, and a sudden and very much noticeable increase in malicious aura.

"Now, now, Sheryl…" the Earl said, once again back in his regular costumed and grinning appearance, his tone kindly admonishing with a hidden edge to it. "Watch your tongue, will you?"

"But…" said Noah protested.

"Sheryl…" the Earl began once more, and this time around, the warning in the man's voice was obvious for all to hear, and the Noah sunk back into his seat, bowing his head slightly.

Seemingly having dealt with the other, the Earl focused his attention on Allen and Tyki where they stood.

"Allen…" the man began, seemingly intent on ignoring the latter, something which did not seem to bother the other man much at all. "I'm delighted you decided to join us."

Allen said nothing, but lowered his head ever so slightly.

"_Come."_

As Tyki headed off to claim his own place, the Earl motioned Allen to have a seat in the chair to his left, and he did, feeling the increased pressure of multiple eyes following him every step of the way.

**- o0o -**

**_"The time is out of joint: O cursed spite,_ _That ever I was born to set it right…"_**

**- o0o -**

"_**Though this be madness, yet there is method in't…"**_

**- o0o -**

"_**I must be cruel only to be kind;  
>Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind…"<strong>_

**- o0o -**

Amber-coloured eyes swept across the room, memorising faces and manners.

The earlier loathing he had sensed in the air was still very much there, though it seemed better concealed now, likely because the person on his right was still very much present.

Truly, all things considered, it was really no wonder the Earl had sought to keep him locked up and hidden away, knowing the still very present grudge against the Fourteenth.

Still, however gilded, a cage was still a cage, with bars both to keep him inside of it and to keep outer forces at bay, and if he had to choose between living a long life in confinement or a short one outside of it, he had made his mind up a long time ago, hadn't he?

**- o0o -**

He was back in that room, staring at a pile of clothes which had been laid out for him on the bed, neatly folded.

**- o0o -**

"_**To be, or not to be: that is the question…"**_

**- o0o -**

He pulled them on and straightened them, giving his appearance an appraising look in the full-length mirror which had at some point been brought into the room before snorting, running a hand through his still rather dishevelled white locks.

**- o0o -**

"_Such is the question…"_

**- o0o -**

A pair of black lace-up boots were also lined up by the bed, and he put them on, tightening the laces and tying them before once again straightening up, leaving the room without a second look towards the shadow looming over him in the mirror.

**- o0o -**

"…_But what is the answer?"_

**- o0o -**


	43. The Forty–Third Testament

_At long last, chapter forty-three was pieced together into an at least somewhat sensible mess from a not-so-sensible one. (At least I hope so, since I did the proof-reading of this in the middle of the night…)_

_Happy New Year!_

**- o0o -**

**The Forty-Third Testament**

**The Child of Innocence**

**- o0o -**

On, off, on, off. It was almost like flicking a light switch back and forth, appearing and reappearing within moments, leaving only a minimal amount of residue behind and hardly any that could be measured without extremely sharp senses or rather sophisticated equipment. One moment it was there – watching – yet the next moment it was gone again, appearing and reappearing – sometimes regularly, sometimes irregularly – often surrounded by an otherworldly flickering light. Even so, they barely even caught more than a glimpse of the silent spectre tailing them, and – after multiple sightings by several people of the exorcist party – it had come to take up a great part of the occasional conversations in-between party members, even after said spectre's appearances had grown far in-between up until the point when they had seemingly ceased altogether.

"We're almost there now," their reformed akuma guide – Chomesuke – suddenly announced, breaking off the other conversations, noticeably ill at ease at the party's proximity to the Earl's headquarters, no doubt affected by the proximity of the man in question. "Over there. Edo Castle."

"Tim, where's Cross?" Lavi asked, directing his question both to the golem in question as well as to the one interpreting said golem's answers.

"Tim's confused," Timothy responded. "But from what I can tell, he should still be in the area."

The redhead shot him a look out of the corner of his eye, but directed his eye forward again, a fleeting shadow of worry crossing his features before his usual carefree mask was firmly back in place. "Chomesuke," he said instead, directing himself to their guide while pointing towards the skies above the castle in the distance. "What's that thing?" he asked, even though there was something – just a slight hint in the tone that he used – informing those paying attention that he already had a fair guess about what the aforementioned was already.

"The Noah's Ark," the other dutifully informed him, murmuring, giving a noticeable shudder as they hid behind the corner of some kind of old storing facility, seeking to remain hidden from the sight of the countless akuma swarming the skies above them, summoned there by the Earl's telepathic call. "We should get out of here…"

Timothy shot her a discreet but sympathising look, even though he could not agree with her. He had come to this place with a purpose in mind, and leaving it without accomplishing said goal wasn't very high amongst his priorities.

"We should take cover," someone – presumably Lenalee – said. "And wait."

Timothy held back a snort. _Wait for what?_

Then, just as suddenly, there was some sort of a shift in their surroundings, and they all took cover in the storage house, praying they would not be discovered before they had a readymade plan at hand as well as the means to execute it at the opportune moment, the latter of which might not occur at all.

"Akuma," Chomesuke mouthed at them all, motioning at them to stand down and to stay hidden when some reached for their weapons. She then held up two fingers on one hand and three on the other, before emphasising the latter.

On the outside, a number of shadows passed by, seemingly conversing amongst themselves in some foreign tongue. However, once they were gone, and just as the members of the party considered once again starting to move about, Timothy felt something nudge against his mind. In the next moment, Tsukikami's halfway transparent form had appeared beside him – unseen by the others – looking out towards the street with a strange look on his face. _"__**He**__'s here."_

Hearing the tone of the other's voice, Timothy's brain required a moment to process the information. Then, his face drained of all colour.

**- o0o -**

"_No way."_

**- o0o -**

Miranda Lotto no longer wandered in humid darkness. Instead, she was seated in a mildly chaotic and rather dark office, lit up only by the light of multiple monitors overlooking the headquarters of the Asian Branch, showing those who had already resumed their normal working tasks as well as those who were still busy cleaning up what remained of the rubble – which wasn't much – leaving her to wonder just how much time had passed since then – since the assault. It seemed like it had taken place an eternity ago, even though she could recall it as though it had happened only the day before. It was a strange feeling, but then again, she did find herself filled to the brim with conflicting emotions, not only because she was technically back in the clutches of the Order – despite the promises she had been given – but also because of the cloaked child resting against her front, hooded head and masked face burrowed into the crook of her neck, still shimmering slightly.

The child hardly weighed anything. Then again, seeing that it was hardly corporeal, and its touch was not a physical one per se, even though she found that it felt very real to her even so, as a strange jolt of energy went through her whenever it came into contact with bare skin, leaving a strange prickling sensation behind.

The child was the very reason she was no longer wandering in humid darkness, seeing that it had led her to the outside, guiding her. Initially though, it had kept disappearing and reappearing at irregular intervals, initially remaining only for a few moments before once again flickering out of existence only to reappear a few minutes later, looking up at her with halfway obscured eyes she knew to be a familiar hue of silver-grey, observing her with a mixture of concern and very childlike curiosity, occasionally tugging slightly at her sleeve. Then it had come to stay with her for longer periods of time, up until the point it when it barely even flickered anymore, even if it – already partially transparent – appeared no more solid than it had previously. But even so, the additional time spent in her presence seemed to take a toll on it, leaving it sluggish and clinging to her, very much reminiscent of a sleeping child.

The child had not only led her out of the darkness; unwittingly or not, it had caused her to be discovered by Bak Chan and a few of said man's associates, and the former had been all too willing to get them back to their headquarters without notifying the main branch of the Order or the people at Central, even going as far as to bring down their line of communication temporarily with said parties – citing technological difficulties and maintenance as reasons for it – and sneaking them in – in secret – for reasons that were entirely beyond her.

Then again, if the branch leader's reaction – a delighted kind of disbelief intermingling with wonder – to the child – who had watched the man somewhat warily in return – served as any kind of indication, perhaps that was the reason behind the other's sudden eagerness to ensure the discreetness of the matter, seeing that the man would hardly be given much of a chance to look into it otherwise.

The child had seemed mildly bothered by all the attention though, clinging to her more firmly. She still did not know what to call it, and she did not even want to refer to it as an _it_ in her own mind in the first place, seeing to the fact that whether it had been born of Innocence or not, it was still a child to her, and no child deserved to be referred to as an _it_. Seeking to remedy that, she had attempted to ask the child for a name, receiving only a look of mild confusion, even though the boy seemed to be perfectly capable of understanding her otherwise, leaving her to assume that he either did not possess the ability to speak or had not learnt how to, which had bothered her a bit – initially at any rate – but now it was just a minor inconvenience. For once, she – who was generally not the most talkative person in the bunch – wasn't the quietest. Then again, perhaps the child had initially sought to communicate with her verbally; perhaps she only lacked the ability to perceive its voice.

Once again, Bak Chan entered the office and she looked up but did not move otherwise, not wanting to disturb the child resting against her front. She knew there would be questions soon – questions she herself hardly even knew how to respond to – and she hoped dearly that the other would not sell either of them out. Technically though, she herself had done nothing wrong as of yet from their point of view, because besides previously associating with someone they – the Order, that is – would no doubt label a heretic, she herself only needed to answer for her own whereabouts after she had been separated from her keeper in the incident out on the river. Technically…

The child stirred slightly, warily eyeing the hand which had been reaching out towards him. Bak noticed the look, smiling disarmingly while withdrawing the hand slightly. "Hi again there, little one. Pardon the belated introduction. I'm Bak Chan."

The boy said nothing, shifting a miniscule bit to observe the man more closely all while retaining his silence, tilting his head a bit as if silently questioning the other's intent. Bak Chan on his end seemed intrigued rather than put off, holding out his hand for the child to either take or shake, all while the latter's eyes only shifted from the man's face to the hand, back again and then up at Miranda, as if seeking explanation or permission or possibly even assistance, though when no directions came from her – seeing that she was at loss as to what to make of it all – the boy turned his attention back to the branch leader, giving the man a strange look. Bak Chan on his end let out a thoughtful hum in response, his eyes flickering to rest upon Miranda for a moment before once again returning to focus on the child before him. Then, a slight smile graced his features. "Did he send you?"

The child's face was still largely obscured by the domino mask, but the telling tilt of the child's head served as an indication of a question, prompting Bak to clarify. "Did Allen send you here? Did Red send you?"

The child looked at him in continued silence for a few additional moments before nodding once, slowly, and Bak brightened in response, and his expression only grew brighter when small fingers loosened their grip on the fabric Miranda's clothes, reaching out to touch the proffered hand. Judging from the slight startle, the aforementioned branch leader had also experienced the strange jolt, coming into direct contact with him.

"We've been looking for you for days," Bak said somewhat thoughtfully, looking at the child but directing himself to Miranda. "When Kanda Yu voiced his intentions to press on and to meet up with the emissary from Central, we picked up the search." He paused momentarily before continuing. "According to the latest I've heard, he's made contact with the Tiedoll unit," he went on. "They should already have reached Japan by now."

Miranda felt herself sag slightly, quietly relieved. "And the emissary?" she asked somewhat hesitantly, already fearing for the answer. Absentmindedly, she felt the child shift slightly, no doubt watching her again.

"The emissary?" Bak snorted slightly, his posture shifting slightly, a telling sign of the man's seeming disapproval of the presence of said emissary. "According to my reports, Kanda Yu met up with him, but what took place between them has yet to reach my ears. As far as I'm aware… Well, from what I figure, at any rate… certain strings were pulled and certain requests were made, specifically asking that you would be part of any delegation sent to greet said emissary…"

Her blood ran cold instantly, and the child – who had previously been trailing the outlines of symbols within Bak Chan's palm – looked up at her momentarily before leaning his hooded head more firmly against her shoulder. The action added little weight to it, but for some reason, it made her feel lighter on the inside instead. Allen was there – well, some part of him at any rate, probably. Everything was fine; everything would be fine. "Why me?" she asked quietly, trying to keep her voice from trembling. Why ever would they be after her? Why?

As if responding to her question, the child reached up, his ethereal fingertips trailing her pocket watch necklace which glowed slightly then, as if responding to the touch.

"Yes…" she heard the branch leader say, as the latter had no doubt also noticed the boy's move. "I have reason to believe that they've read the reports on the abilities of your Innocence – _to affect time and space _– and saw a connection to a certain prophecy…"

"Prophecy?" she echoed, and he nodded solemnly.

"At the European Headquarters, one Hevlaska – a protector of Innocence – recently uttered a prophecy," he explained, once again looking at the child she held loosely cradled up against herself. "That one Innocence would create a great Destroyer of Time in a dark future…"

She said nothing, sparing a glance at the child who looked back at her in return before once again directing her eyes towards the branch leader. "They think it's me? They think I'm going to be this… Destroyer of Time?" she finally said, keeping her voice steady while studying the other's expression. "But you don't think so…"

"I do not," Bak Chan readily admitted, his eyes still on the child who in turn looked right back at him, certainly wary but equally curious. "Then again, watching you now, I cannot help but wonder…"

She said nothing, but found herself holding back a frown. This appeared to pass by unnoticed though, as Bak Chan straightened up and withdrew slightly. "I will ask Wong to fetch something for me. There is something I need to have a look into…"

He left the office for a bit, no doubt to call for his most trusted servant and adviser, but soon returned, holding a strange technological apparatus in his hand and wearing a mildly apologetic look on his face. He approached them again, crouching down much like he had done before, holding up the small device for them both to see. "This is a bit of an experiment of mine," he explained. "I've been trying to develop a device which can detect and measure the activity of Innocence and particles of it, but around here, we don't get a lot of exorcists and even fewer of whom who are willing to indulge me…"

Miranda looked from the man's face to the device and then back again. The child imitated the motion before once again clinging more firmly to her, watching the other and said device with increasing wariness, especially so when the other started fiddling with it, pointing it towards him. "It's not going to hurt or anything," Bak explained, seemingly trying to calm him down. "I just want to check something…"

The child continued looking at the device with seeming suspicion. Then, the device crackled slightly, and the child initially startled, watching the thing with even more distrust, all while Bak Chan seemed to be studying the readings with gradually increasing fascination. For a while, the man said nothing, seemingly stunned into silence. Then, after a few more seconds, he seemingly recovered and suddenly looked up from the device, his eyes zeroing in on the hooded child whose eyes – halfway hidden behind the mask – stared right back at him with nearly equal intensity. "I can't believe it," he finally said, a hint of breathlessness to his voice. "That's just… incredible…"

Miranda could only imagine what the other's readings had told him.

"Synchronisation rate: One-hundred-and-ten percent and rising, and that's without being in direct physical contact with its chosen apostle." Bak Chan flipped the device over, showing her the fluctuating numbers on the display. "I believe we may have found ourselves a future Destroyer of Time."

For some reason, she felt vaguely ill. "How is that possible?"

"It shouldn't be," Bak responded, studying the numbers once more before laying it down onto the floor next to him, refocusing his attention on the child. "Yet here we are…"

She said nothing.

"At this rate, I can only speculate," Bak continued, continuing to observe the child with keen interest, only to be just as keenly observed in return. "But I've been working on a theory as of late…"

"A theory?" she echoed.

"Yes, a theory," the branch-leader went on. "Will you listen to it?"

She said nothing, but nodded once.

"Allen Walker… is – as you should already know very well – quite an extraordinary individual," the other began. "In short, he is what one would call an anomaly, seeing that he is highly compatible with both Innocence and Dark Matter… As for the latter – with him being a host of Noah Memories and all – Black Order policies are perfectly clear; clearly categorising him as a heretic. Had I not come face to face with him beforehand, I probably would not have made much of it; I would most definitely have thought of it as a pity and as a waste of great potential, but I cannot very well imagine that I would be here with you now, like this. However, I am – as you can probably imagine – not only a scientist but also a curious man by nature, so when an opportunity presented itself for me to come face to face with this anomaly – this boy; this teenager of unknown motives and origins – I took it. And, after coming face to face with this anomaly, I found myself captivated…"

He paused briefly, continuing to observe the child who had at some point abandoned their unofficial staring contest and laid his head fully against Miranda's throat, nearly tucking it beneath her chin. "Looking at Allen Walker, I did not see an enemy," Bak went on. "I certainly saw a heretic – a deviant – but no enemy of mine. I looked at him, searching for his true nature. The Order had certainly wronged him, hunting him down and imprisoning him with the later intent of putting him on trial for breaking oaths he never made to anyone, but there was no anger or resentment in his eyes when I faced him, even though _I_ knew that _he_ knew the fate awaiting him at the hands of the Order. He did not fear it, but I found that I would not have it, so I stalled it for as long as I could. Admittedly, in the end, there was no need for that… seeing that the same info that had been leaked to Central had also – one way or another – leaked to the Earl, leading to the latter's interference…"

Bak Chan paused once more, briefly, before continuing. "Had I had the knowledge, the wisdom and the power to do so, I would have sought to resolve the situation with as little bloodshed as possible," he said. "Unfortunately, at the time, I did not."

"Regardless, an intriguing fact remains," Bak went on. "And that is the curious fact that Allen Walker seems capable of not only perceiving events taking place beyond the reach of normal human senses; as has already been proven, he also possesses some ability to interfere… though I am still quite at loss as to how exactly he managed to separate himself from his Innocence, allowing the latter to move about of its own accord. It's all rather extraordinary, really. I am quite certain that I have never witnessed anything quite like it."

"Tsukikami, the Innocence of young Timothy Hearst, is – as far as I know at any rate – a thinking and feeling entity," he explained. "But, there is a significant difference…" He put his hand out, fingertips caressing the otherworldly entity amongst them who seemingly shivered a bit but did not move otherwise, seemingly resting. "Tsukikami is not – not normally at any rate – a physical entity that can be seen, heard or felt by others. In other words, Tsukikami can only be perceived by Timothy himself and is as such more of a mental entity than a physical one, though obviously, the latter cannot be excluded. Now, this child on the other hand…"

He looked at the child. It continued to ignore him. "He is – by all means – real, even though he is not like us, a living creature of flesh and bones. He lives though – that much is for certain – but he is a being of Innocence, driven and nourished by other things," he said. "As you already know, Innocence requires an appropriate medium to affect reality, just like it needs an accommodator to wield it. Allen Walker's Innocence – supposedly parasitic and supposedly contained in his left arm – is moving about without him, of its own free will, even though it seems to have received some degree of guidance, likely from Allen himself, leaving me to assume that Allen – for whatever reason – managed to separate himself from it in order to allow it to move around more freely, likely in a situation when he himself could not…"

"That shouldn't be possible…" she responded, her voice a mere whisper.

"It shouldn't," Bak readily admitted. "Even if it possesses a will of its own and such, an accommodator should still be required, and if there is one, some sort of medium is still required for it to remain active…"

Miranda's eyes grew wide as a sudden realisation dawned upon her, and her hand – the one which wasn't occupied – flew up to her neck, fingertips enclosing around the pocket watch.

**- o0o -**

"_In order to control it better, you need to be more closely – more deeply – connected to it…"_

**- o0o -**

_"Innocence is affected by your will and your emotions, and…"_

**- o0o -**

_"Innocence… needs to connect with its accommodator…"_

**- o0o -**

"_…T__o connect one thing to another, something must be used in order to create that bond…"_

**- o0o -**

"Blood," she gasped, shooting the seemingly sleeping child a startled look.

"Yes, curious, isn't it?" Bak nodded solemnly, reaching into one of the pockets of his bolero jacket. He pulled out a small test-tube filled with a clear red liquid, and nearly immediately, she took notice of the strange glowing particles submerged in it. "He was still bleeding quite heavily when he was brought in, and as such, I – being the helplessly curious person I am – had one of my subordinates secure few samples of his blood so I could have a look at it later. As such, imagine my surprise when I saw it reacting to something and found that the particles of Innocence in it were highly active…"

The other paused once more, eyes alternating between the blood and the child. "Initially, you said that it flickered – appearing and reappearing – and that is similar both to what I have received reports of and of what I myself have observed. The Tiedoll unit reported sightings of a similar type, and both my subordinates and myself have observed it, mainly around the labs and in this office. At first, I thought I was imagining it, but now – adding it to what I know now – I think I am finally able to see things a bit more clearly…" he said. "It-…He-…" – he made a vague hand gesture towards the child – "…Is with all due likelihood able to materialise and to retain this form using Allen Walker's blood as a medium, and it is because of this that his materialisation is a bit more stable now, seeing that there's much more of it here than with you or with any of your comrades. However, at this rate, it is only a question of time before he exhausts his energy reserves, and when that time comes, who knows what will happen… Then again, if his increasing sluggishness serves as any kind of indication, I'd say that the time for that isn't too far off…"

Involuntarily, Miranda found that she tightened her grip slightly on the child as a feeling of dread crept up on her. "And then? What'll…?"

The child lifted his head again.

"In a best-case scenario, he'll only run out of energy and return to Allen," Bak said, sounding both worried and thoughtful. "In a worst-case scenario on the other hand…"

The child looked to him then, momentarily startled before seemingly calming down. Then, he reached out for the test-tube which still lay in the other's hand, startling the latter as the blood inside the tube lit up more intensively. "Hey!" Startled, Bak sought to withdraw slightly, but the child followed right along, slipping right out of Miranda's grip to reach for the item before overbalancing, to the surprise of all three of them, prompting a still startled Bak to throw his arm out to catch him, securing him against his chest in a matter of moments, dropping the temporarily forgotten test-tube, leaving it to shatter against the hard stone floors, the sound of it bringing them all out of a state of temporary shock.

Bak straightened up, his still wide eyes alternating between the blood on the floor and the child on his arm; all while the latter looked right back at him, eyes narrowing slightly beneath the mask. "Reckless, much like your wielder," he duly noted, receiving the muted version of an amused snort for an answer.

Miranda on her end looked down in wonder at the blood on the floor.

Glimmering particles slowly rose up from it, emitting even more light until the point when they seemed almost reminiscent of fireflies.

She looked up at Bak, who in turn looked at the gleaming particles and then at the small pool of blood they were rising from, his eyes widening even further, a clear sign of the man's utter disbelief as the crimson liquid itself began to move about at their feet as if it was a living organism, slithering like a snake down on the stone floor, tendrils shooting out and swiftly expanding into an intricate network of symbols contained within a circle within moments, all while they both stood frozen in disbelief at what was happening right before their eyes.

"Truly," Bak gasped out, still looking rather stunned as he looked down at the circle painted in blood that they found themselves in and then at the child he still carried on his arm. The latter had thrown a hand out, fingers splayed wide and palm held downwards, glowing slightly as the child remained focused on the circle below them. Bak found that he could hardly tear his eyes from it all, even as the circle beneath them began to glow in a disquieting manner. "Extraordinary."

Then, knowing only moments remained, he turned his head and grabbed onto Miranda's wrist with his free hand, pulling her closer with a determined tug. "Hold on tight," he managed to offer as a means to an explanation, just as light began to envelop the three of them. "We might be in for a bumpy ride."

**- o0o -**

"_Do you trust me?"_

**- o0o -**


	44. The Forty–Fourth Testament

_Lately, I have been a tad preoccupied with battling rather troublesome report, hence the delay._

_Truth to be told, this chapter is not very exciting, but fear not, because the figurative shit will be hitting the fan soon enough._

_Cheers!_

**- o0o -**

**The Forty-Fourth Testament**

**The Answer to the Question**

**- o0o -**

"_**To be, or not to be: that is the question…"**_

**- o0o -**

"…_But what is the answer?"_

**- o0o -**

He was never a good person.

With stormy silver-grey eyes, he kept watch over the world where it lay before him, largely indifferent in regards to what became of it. Overall, few things possessed the ability to move him. Overall, far too many things had managed to move him as of late.

It was crumbling, he realised. The carefully crafted wall he had raised to shield himself from the world lay in shambles, allowing the world and all its troubles to seep into his mind and his heart, gradually corrupting them both.

Before, before the world had managed to corrupt him and bend him to its ways, he had acted however he saw fit, largely uncaring as to the morality or lack thereof in his actions. When people stood in his way, he had either dodged them or trampled all over them. If they persisted, he had held very few qualms about crushing them, be it spiritually or physically.

Cosimo – a lousy performer with a penchant for sabotaging and hurting others – had clearly failed to realise this, and he had paid for said mistake with his life.

If it had just began and ended with Cosimo – a man he had every reason to despise – that would have been one thing. However, it did not, because the man was only one of several.

He had never liked people; they were deceitful, and amongst them, so was he. Amongst others, he lied – _cheated, stole, killed_ – knowing well that he could hardly expect anything else from others in return. Admittedly, Cosimo's death had been different from that of others he had caused; Cosimo's demise was a result of a calculated effort – of a readymade plan put into action when an appropriate opportunity had presented itself – while the other were the result of circumstances; impulses.

He really didn't understand humans.

Back then, even while watching one out of a pair of performers who had sought to sabotage him previously as she plunged due to the rope of a trapeze snapping after he had done a bit of tampering of his own, he had not averted his eyes. Instead, he had watched her as she fell – watching her facial expression shift from one of surprise to one frozen in terror – and even as she impacted upon the ground with a nasty crunching sound, indicating that she had – at the very least – cracked quite a number of bones. Momentarily, he thought he would feel something, but even when he heard her pained gasps from down below, he found that he felt nothing. Even worse, he found himself feeling strangely content when her partner – both in crime and in life – saw what had happened and promptly reacted to it.

Back then, he had felt nothing.

In hindsight, he felt ill.

The world and its troubles – its morals – had corrupted him, bringing him face to face with what he had once been, both before Mana had entered his life and after the man had left it.

That man had set things in motion, sending him down a path of his own making, telling him to keep on walking; to keep on moving. His words; he – as Allen – had taken them to heart and applied them to his life, seemingly shedding his old habits and reshaping himself into someone else – into Allen. However, his transformation was a superficial one at best; tearing one mask – the mask of Red – away from his face, he promptly donned another, changing little of what had truly lain beneath. Even now, he was still the same on the inside, even though the mask he had once donned was filled with cracks and rapidly falling to pieces.

As Allen, he had given the world a second chance. He had held out his hand, not really expecting anything, fully expecting the world – in all its ugliness – to reject him the same manner it had the first time around. He had fully expected it, and had been just about ready to withdraw his hand when something had brushed against it, however briefly, and he had startled, withdrawing the hand quickly and cradling it close to his chest, warily watching the massive feline as it in return watched him. It had nuzzled his hand before withdrawing, acknowledging him as something beyond that of mere prey or a potential threat after having inflicted a scratch on him, marking him. The action likely meant very little to the lion – or possibly the lioness; he couldn't quite remember which – but it had meant a lot to Allen, because intentionally or not, it had acknowledged him.

Then, he had crossed paths with a miserable-looking woman, and for once he had actually sought to understand, only to find himself more confused than ever, in regards to her actions as well as his own, especially so when new forces involved themselves in his life.

That day, the day when he had broken his promise to remain uninvolved, the world had come rushing towards him from all sides and its agents had swept in like vultures looking for a fresh carcass to devour – except for the fact that there was no carcass; there was only him, caught in-between two warring factions even though only one was fully aware of the other at the time. It was not a position he had liked to be in, especially not so when trapped within a closed space of distorted time.

The sensation of being trapped; it lingered, even then, months later far away in a distant land. Sick of the feeling, he had decided on taking the quickest route out then, temporarily choosing to side with one faction to resolve the situation before leaving them both. Then, for just a fraction of a second, he had turned, coming face to face with the same miserable-looking woman who had been the cause of it all, unknowingly warping time and space through the force of her wishes. He had not held his hand out for her to take, but had instead offered her a way out of the miserable little world she had unwittingly trapped herself in. He had offered her a way out; he had offered her an opportunity to change.

Sometimes, he regretted it, knowing it had set a whole lot of things in motion, leaving him to pick up not only one but two additional pieces of human baggage in rapid succession, having all three of them tag along with him while he headed east, gradually becoming more and more aware of the fate that eventually awaited him.

He had broken his promise to himself and involved himself in the affairs of the world and in the fates of the people in it, and now he stood seemingly on the precipice above an ever-growing void seemingly ready to swallow him up at any point in time.

Back then, just as now, he had considered himself far beyond any reasonable point of salvation. Then again, he hardly needed it, having come to terms with what awaited him. He knew that he wouldn't live; he knew that he had already outlived his own life expectancy, for a human at any rate. Then again, had he ever been able to classify himself as one, he ought to have crossed that line a long time ago.

He had sought to change what he had perceived to be his fate, staying clear of one path at the price of stepping onto another. Now, there was little he could do to stop it; now, he felt as though he could only postpone it.

For a while, during what had taken place in the aftermath of his initial capture, the issue with the Fourteenth had been dealt with temporarily. The hastily constructed suppression seal had swiftly unravelled though, during his fight with Tyki Mikk. Then again, it had been a temporary measure at best, delaying the inevitable. With two strong separate wills sharing the same body, they would have to come to some sort of agreement eventually, whether he liked it or not. Even so, if he could delay it, he would.

_"__I don't have a heart,"_ he reminded himself, recalling the words he once spoke to Suman Dark over in that world. "_If I ever did, I gave it up a long time ago."_

Even if he had a heart, he didn't need it. Additional emotions were a bother; they made him incapable of seeing proper reason. Some things needed to happen, and certain things needed to be done; whether to rush or hamper him, emotions were unneeded. They simply added to the chaos already raging within him, and to be truthful, he was conflicted enough already.

He wasn't a good person; he barely even qualified as a human being, and by no means qualified as a decent one. Then again, decent human beings were rare and far in-between; he knew as much, and he knew it very well.

The heart he hadn't allowed himself to have – the emotions he hadn't allowed himself to feel – had nourished his Innocence in return, allowing it to feed on them like a parasite. With that in mind, it was no wonder he had become as twisted as he was; it had efficiently numbed him, and his own conviction to distance himself from his own emotions had only amplified the effect of it, playing right into the ruthless nature of his sleeping Inner Noah.

Then, during his period of incarceration at the headquarters of the Asian Branch of the Black Order, the fragile balance between the forces within him had been disturbed, forcing memories – sealed and buried – up to the surface, with evidently disastrous results.

He had allowed his mind to shut down temporarily, giving it time to repair itself and to adjust to the additional pressure of memories – new and old – having been forced up to the surface.

He had spent a lot of time in his realm of thought – in his realm of dreams and memories – standing above a largely stagnant pool of liquefied memories posing as a barrier between him and the Fourteenth, between him and his subconscious, between him and reality. It was almost like a mirror to him, even though it was a cracked one, displaying mostly warped images of what truly went on in the world which lay beyond the realm instead of the landscape of it, its blank surface rippling only to relay voices from beneath as well as from beyond.

He had spent a lot of time within it; as a matter of fact, it could be argued that he had even spent far too much time in there, seeing that said landscape was now far more real to him than the one of the world beyond it, the supposed reality he had recently returned to. The latter just didn't feel real anymore, and all things considered, perhaps it wasn't, and if it wasn't, then did it matter?

"_It's not about the world," _a disembodied voice whispered. _"It's about the people within it."_

He snorted inwardly. _"What about them?"_

A nervous-looking woman with a hidden streak of stubbornness appeared before his mind's eye, followed by an awkward-looking man with a streak of ferociousness and an insufferable brat, far too curious for his own good. They were all persistent, to the point of utter foolishness, even though he had told them – he knew he had told them, at some point – that they would all die if they followed, yet here they were, or at least two out of three, with one already in Edo and a second to arrive shortly if his latest visions could serve as any kind of indication. Then again, that left the fate of a third virtually unknown to him, and for some reason, he found that this puzzled him greatly, seeing that he felt as though he had been with them – with her – only hours prior.

"_Miranda?"_ He directed himself inward, not really expecting any sort of response, and as such, he was surprised when he was answered by echoes rising from within.

An image of being trapped inside a dark damp cave filled his mind momentarily, and briefly, he felt some sort of connection flicker within him before it was gone again. Then, new images flooded into him and he shrugged the initial one off as something of the past; the things he saw had already been.

_"Allen?" _It was only an echo; he knew as much, but it still resounded within him with as much force as though the words had only just been spoken. _"How? If you are really Allen, prove it. Prove… prove to me that I'm not just going crazy…"_

It was only an echo, a series of relayed images and echoes of a time which already lay in the past, lost to all present and future interference. It was an echo and as such, he might as well ignore it, but he found that he could not, seeing that it continued to resonate within him so clearly. _"Prove it. Are you Allen?"_

_"Prove it. Are you Allen?"_ the voice resounded yet again, seemingly expecting an answer all while he wondered whether or not to give her one, regardless of the probable uselessness of it.

The landscape distorted and then, he was in front of the mirror, staring at the Fourteenth's shadow looming over him. Then, he reached out, placing his palm flat against the mirror's surface before stepping closer, leaning his bare forehead against the looking glass as he closed his eyes. _"If I'm not Allen, who the Hell am I?"_

_"Wait."_ The echo of Miranda's voice rang out within him again, speaking softly. _"You don't need to be afraid. I am more afraid of you than you are of me…"_

Him? Afraid? What a novel concept. Then again, perhaps she was right; perhaps he was really afraid without even realising it. Every living organism with any higher degree of awareness felt fear, and in the end – as a thinking and feeling being – he was no exception. For whatever reason, he had been bestowed with the ability to perceive the thoughts and feelings of others – to a limited extent, at any rate – making it entirely possible that the fear he perceived consisted not only of his own fear, but also that of her and possibly even that of others even beyond that.

After all, since he had involved himself – however eagerly or reluctantly on his part – his connection to his surroundings and the people within them had gradually strengthened, connecting them more deeply. With the time he had spent with his companions, they had made an imprint on him and they had done so on him – however unwittingly on both of their parts – connecting them more deeply, ensuring that the connection remained even though it weakened significantly in their absence. Admittedly, it was definitely weaker now and a whole lot dodgier than it had been previously, but with two out of three of his companions steadily closing in, he could feel the connection growing stronger once more, something which worried him, probably because he knew that them getting closer to him meant that they – with all due likelihood – would not live much longer.

Admittedly, he had warned Tyki – and indirectly the Earl as well – not to target any of them with the purpose of getting to him, however, at this rate, short of threatening suicide and plotting to commit murder, there was little he could do, should the Earl decide to have them eliminated. Then again, considering the influence said individuals both knowingly and unknowingly exercised over him, it was only a question of time before someone – be it the Earl or be it _someone else_ – sought to use them as leverage, holding their lives over his head even more than they already had.

At this rate, it was probably already too late to prevent it. At this rate, it was very likely that he could only delay the inevitable. Still, he wasn't entirely powerless, lest he made himself so; he could still make a difference, however, he found that he was still conflicted in regards to which path to take, having more than just the threat of a complete awakening of the Fourteenth hanging above his head. After all, his Innocence…

The Earl had expressed his seeming mystification at the prospect of an Innocence working independently to save his life, though with that thing still inside his body, the Earl wouldn't risk destroying it lest he wanted to risk killing him altogether, creating a rather paradoxical situation in which Allen – slotted as host to both Innocence and Noah Memories – possibly held the key to more or less annihilate both sides of the war, seeing that he – as the confirmed host to the Memories of the Fourteenth and a possible possessor of the supposed Heart – certainly ought to possess a fair deal of potential, at least in terms of destructiveness. The aforementioned conditions – along with the connection which had no doubt existed between the Fourteenth and the Earl – no doubt added to the latter's proven preoccupation with him as of late, strongly suggesting an attitude of general ambivalence as far as Allen was concerned, seeing that the man appeared to want to keep him locked up and isolated from the rest of the world – to protect him from _the world_ – all while he still seemed to harbour this desire not to let him out of his sight – to protect him from _himself_ – going as far as to drag him all the way to a soon-to-be battleground.

In the end, the latter had won out, leaving him where he was, on the precipice of a figurative cliff, waiting for a figurative storm to arrive.

"Allen?"

He raised his eyes suddenly, finally taking in the shadow which had fallen upon him where he had seated himself in an armchair of some sort, having been rendered idle shortly after his own preparations for whichever grand showdown the Earl seemed to have in mind, having called all akuma in Japan to assemble in Edo. The aforementioned shadow proved to be none other than Tyki Mikk – he had been seeing said man in his vicinity a lot as of late, to the extent that he hardly even questioned the man's bothersome presence and occasionally tedious chattiness anymore, occasionally to the very extent of ignoring the man altogether, which was likely the case seeing that the other probably hadn't addressed him initially by his given – or rather taken, if one had to nitpick – name.

"Are you really sure you want to join in on this one?" the other inquired, a hint of seeming concern entering his features. "You seem kind of out of it."

He snorted in response, signalling for the other to move aside with a slight hand gesture. "At this rate, this is hardly about what I want…" he said, getting back to his feet, stretching his stiff limbs and straightening out his attire. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

_Is it time?_

The question went unasked, but in the end, it was hardly necessary, seeing that he already knew the answer. "Where's Road?" he asked instead, having taken note of her seeming absence since the latest assembly.

Tyki shrugged mildly in response. "The Earl has tasked her with something tedious, so it'll probably be a while before she turns up…"

Allen kicked up an eyebrow in response. "Something tedious?"

Amber-coloured eyes bore down upon him. "You could say that."

Allen's eyebrow climbed even higher for a brief moment before his facial expression once again smoothened out, morphing into one of indifference. "You're not telling me." It wasn't a question.

"You'll know later," Tyki responded, shrugging mildly. "After you." He gestured towards the door.

Despite harbouring an intense dislike in regards to being ordered around, Allen obliged, exiting the room, closely followed by the other.

He was never a good person, neither before nor after he had been corrupted by the world – by its troubles; by its morals and values. He had never really understood humans; he had never really liked them either, but even so, he found himself fascinated by them, due to their similarities as well as their differences.

_To be, or not to be: that is the question…__ But what is the answer?_

**- o0o -**

_"Prove it." _

**- o0o -**

"_Are you Allen?"_

**- o0o -**

He paused momentarily before exiting, inwardly repeating his earlier response._ "If I'm not Allen, just who the Hell am I?"_

**- o0o -**


	45. The Forty–Fifth Testament

_This… took way longer than I expected, due to me gravely underestimating the load of coursework headed my way. Not very proof-read, but if there's anything major I'll be back to fix it once I'm able. Anyhow, after posting this (along with my other updates), I shall once again return to my severely neglected report._

_Cheers._

**- o0o -**

**The Forty-Fifth Testament**

**The Price of Leniency**

**- o0o -**

"_Say, Allen…"_

**- o0o -**

He paused momentarily as he made his way down the corridor of the Japanese-styled house he had been kept in previously, momentarily confused as to what had brought him to such a sudden stop. Then, within the blink of an eye, just as Tyki Mikk who had been walking only just slightly ahead of him suddenly stopped as well, Allen found himself instinctively hugging himself tightly – the latter was quite an accomplishment, seeing that his left hand otherwise had a habit of hanging uselessly at his side. It was a highly involuntary action – or rather, reaction – but it was first and foremost an instinctual one.

"Boy?"

He paid the other no heed, his attention directed elsewhere as he sought to pinpoint just what had prompted such a reaction. In response to his seeming lack of response, the other watched him in silence, seemingly on the verge of either asking something about it or of leaning closer to get a closer look to possibly determine just what was up with him for himself, but Allen – having managed to unfold his arms – held his hand out, signalling for the other to remain where he was all while his other hand – his right one – went to the side of his head, his eyes widening slightly before narrowing as new echoes rang out within him as if resonating with something nearby.

Despite the hand, Tyki leant closer, capturing the wrist of the aforementioned hand while he was at it, something which immediately caused Allen's attention to snap right back to him, acutely aware of the fact that the other – a Noah – had his left arm – containing his Innocence – in his grasp, which in general was not a very good position to be in. Allen's eyes narrowed even further. "Let go," he said, keeping his voice perfectly level, even though there was just a hint of irritation to it.

"You zoned out again," the other responded, retaining the grip; he even tightened it a bit, causing Allen to – however involuntarily – wince slightly. "Looking all like someone had just scared you out of your wits and then doused you with a bucket of icy water…"

Allen positively found himself glaring now, his eyes alternating between the man's face and the man's fingers firmly wrapped around his wrist. Noticing a slight shift in the other's expression, he chanced an experimental tug and the other finally relenting, allowing him to reclaim his previously captured limb, eyes alternating between the aforementioned limb and Allen's face, some amount of calculation reflected within their depths. "It's hot," Tyki noted, withdrawing slightly and tilting his head slightly to the side. "Like it's reacting to something…"

Allen merely snorted at this, cradling the newly liberated limb to his chest while retaining his glare. "Don't flatter yourself," he spat, quite aware as he was of the thoughts crossing the other's mind at that moment. He turned his head slightly to the side, and then stepped past Tyki to open the sliding doors to the room that had only recently been both a place of imprisonment and one of sanctuary, the former not so much because of the surrounding walls and akuma but rather because of how trapped he had felt while his body had been weak and the latter simply because it had formed a barrier between him and the rest, and because he had relished in once again being able to experience some semblance of his earlier solitude. "I thought I sensed something," he went on to claim, making his way across the room and sliding the doors open to the porch before turning slightly to look at the other from out of the corner of his eye. "But I guess my senses were just playing tricks on me…"

Tyki watched him with a mixture of scepticism and keen amusement, making his way across the room from one end to the other with merely a few determined strides, even going as far as to step past Allen where he stood in the opening, stepping to the very edge of the porch before turning and studying him once more. "Your poker face is good," Tyki finally said, smirking. "But you really need to work on your body language…"

Allen, having followed the other with his eyes, remained right where he stood even as the other reached out, fingertips ghosting briefly against his cheek. "What are you doing?" Allen asked, keeping his voice perfectly level and his face perfectly blank all while the still smirking Tyki continued watching him as though he was right about to spill his guts – figuratively speaking, mind you, and not literally.

"Whatever it is, it's got you spooked," the man noted, by no means bothering to hide his amusement. "I do have to wonder just what is capable of causing you to become all ashen and shivering though…"

Allen's eyes narrowed slightly in response and he reached up to push the offending hand away – using his right hand this time around – and found it captured just as easily as the last time around. He allowed it to happen but retained his glare. "If you look at me and see a shivering mess, you're the one with a problem," he spat.

"So…" Tyki continued watching him, amusement intermingling with curiosity. "What's up?"

Allen said nothing, the brunt of his attention alternating between the other's face and the fingers wrapped firmly around his wrist. As if in response to his shifting attention, the grip tightened.

"You know…" Tyki went on, no doubt very much aware of the situation. "You can still decide to sit this one out if you want…"

Allen said nothing, looking steadily at the other's face this time around, unwaveringly.

For a few moments, nothing occurred. Then, Tyki gradually relented, loosening his grip without relinquishing it entirely.

"Hey," he finally said a bit condescendingly. "Your transformation has yet to stabilise, and you're still recovering, and everyone knows that. Besides, the Duke has made it quite clear that he wishes only for you to attend for today and not necessarily for you to participate…"

Allen's eyes narrowed slightly, turning himself loose without much effort. _'To keep me out of the Ark?'_

"Come on," Tyki ushered, stepping closer all whilst Allen stepped back, suddenly acutely aware of what the other had in mind.

'_Definitely not.'_

"It'll be faster this way…" Tyki insisted, no doubt finding quite a bit of amusement in his by no means subtle reluctance. "Or would you rather have some akuma carry you?"

"I'd rather not be carried at all," Allen finally spat, sidestepping the other and putting a bit of distance between them.

"Are you going to make this difficult, Boy?" Tyki responded, standing his ground and looking all too pleased with it all.

"Are you?" Allen returned without skipping a beat, remaining where he was even as Tyki stepped closer once again.

"The other Noah have been explicitly and implicitly instructed not to lay as much as a finger on you," the latter went on to claim, nearly having closed the distance between them. "Now… my own instructions on the other hand…"

Allen, having kept a keen eye on the man's movements, averted his eyes, turning his head to the side, signalling his highly reluctant acceptance. _'Fine.'_

"You're far too light, you know? Have you been eating properly as of late?"

'_Shouldn't you of all people know that?'_ He briefly supported himself against Tyki's shoulder before the other had managed to adjust his grip. It was not a very dignified position to be in – he'd admit as much – but considering the alternatives, he knew which one he preferred and as such, he offered only a minimal amount of resistance to the seeming surprise and amusement of his minder.

Getting involved had been his first mistake, and most of those that followed – if not all of them – had been an either direct or indirect result of that very first, because once one had been dragged into the affairs of madmen, staying entirely uninvolved had been eliminated as an option. After all, those worthy enough of being referred to as madmen were the sort of people that could not be reasoned with and should not be trifled with, initial good intentions or not.

"Ready?"

He lifted his head slightly from where it had been resting against the other's shoulder, discreetly shifting his attention slightly so that his eyes levelled briefly on a spot behind them before shifting it away from there just as quickly. "As I said, I'm as ready as I'll ever be," he finally said, and in the moment following his statement Tyki Mikk took flight – well, figuratively speaking – and began making his way skywards, seemingly jumping between pads of thin air, using his Noah abilities to accomplish such a feat.

Allen allowed his head to fall back to rest against the other's shoulder, closing his eyes briefly._ They're here…_

_They're…_

**- o0o -**

_"__**He**__'s here."_

Timothy felt his face drain of all colour. "_No way,"_ he whispered, speaking his native language without reflecting much upon the matter, momentarily paralysed by the horrifying notion of once again coming face to face with that bastard of a man.

"Timothy?"

"What's up?"

He barely took note of people staring at him, choosing to focus on Tsukikami instead who was still looking out towards the street. _Tsukikami?_

Tsukikami tore his eyes from the street and tilted his head ever so slightly. _"He was there, just a few moments ago. Now he isn't."_

_He isn't?_

"_Nope."_

_Where did he go?_

Tsukikami didn't answer. Instead, he had once again lifted his head and appeared to be looking off in a direction which could possibly have been the one in which Edo castle was located, a somewhat strange look adorning his features. _"It's back again."_

_What's back? Who?_

**- o0o -**

They sat in silence, hidden behind a folding screen in the end of the room, not quite aware as to whether or not it was safe to move from their spot or to even raise their voices at all. Then, a fair bit of time since the room's previous occupants had left, the smallest of the trio shifted, hooded head peeking out from beneath the heavy dark fabric of an exorcist's coat before shrugging it off completely.

"What is this place?" Miranda whispered, still looking around with startled eyes even though they had technically been in the aforementioned room for at least an hour. "Why didn't they…?"

Bak resisted the urge to laugh nervously, noticeably calmer now compared to how he had been merely a few minutes previously, and shifted, taking his time to study the room a bit more thoroughly before once again refocusing his attention on the child, whose attention immediately – albeit briefly – snapped right back to him, as if due to having taken notice of the sudden shift in attention. "We were noticed," Bak found himself saying, keeping his voice low but still above a whisper, somehow aware of that the child would have warned them in case they risked discovery. "Allen sensed our presence, and diverted the other Noah's attention. If he hadn't, I doubt we would've made it through…" – He paused momentarily, shifting his attention from the room to Miranda and then to the child who was still watching him. – "Then again, if I hadn't had the presence of mind to…"

The masked child narrowed his eyes at him, not having appreciated being subjected to Bak's quick thinking. Then again, Bak supposed, if he had been the one who had been abruptly covered with a coat and forced down he too would find it hard not to hold at least a slight grudge against the person responsible, dire circumstances or not.

Knowing all of this, he reached out, placing his hand on top of the other's head all while trying not to jolt at the strange sensation it was. "Sorry about that, little one… but if I hadn't done that, your light would have given our position away. And I wouldn't hesitate to do it again if such a situation would once again arise…"

His hand was promptly shoved off and the child easily shrugged off any attempts to rein him in, stepping out from behind the screen and into middle of the room before promptly heading out onto the porch through the still open sliding doors and stopping only on the very edge of it. Once there, the child tilted his hooded head back slightly, halfway hidden eyes no doubt scanning the skies.

Bak hesitated only slightly, doing an additional scan of their immediate surroundings before following suit, and was in turn followed by Miranda if the shuffling behind him served as any sort of indication. Even so, he found himself focusing almost entirely on the child instead, and found himself unable to keep a frown from appearing on his face.

As he had earlier come to conclude, the child before them was a manifestation of Allen Walker's Innocence, and had previously used the latter's blood as a medium through which to materialise. Now however, the child's outline was once again fluctuating, which really was no wonder as it – or he, depending on how one decided to view things – had no doubt spent a whole lot of energy to bring them there, the latter of which was a fascinating thing indeed and would have been an outright unbelievable feat if Bak had not come to witness the Noah controlling something capable of performing similar feats earlier. Even so, the thought of any single entity being capable of doing just that – of appearing and disappearing at a moment's notice, and of bringing others along with them. Even so, even after having performed such an outlandish feat, the other's outline still remained even though it seemed to be fluctuating again, growing stronger and fainter like the struggling candle flame just about to be snuffed out. Truly, there should have been no energy left in the immediate area for the other to draw energy from, that is unless the other had somehow found other way to obtain the energy needed to continue to manifest himself.

The masked boy stood with his head slightly tilted back and with the oversized cloak floating around him, shimmering slightly. Bak had little doubts that the other was looking off into the direction that his supposed accommodator – as well as said accommodators seeming keeper – had disappeared in, most likely on the verge of pursuing them but still held back by something. Then again, it was a fact that said boy – that said being – was a manifestation of Innocence seemingly bestowed with enough awareness and power, making it possible for him to move about without – as far as Bak himself was aware – receiving any explicit orders from its chosen accommodator. Then again, judging from how Allen himself had appeared highly aware of their presence, it was still logical to presume that Allen and his manifested Innocence retained at least some ability to sense one another, or were possibly even capable of communicating with each other on some plane. Then again, as for the latter, Bak himself could only speculate, and in the end, though such a thing would certainly be useful, it was not the thing which was the most integral to either of their existences at the moment.

"Little one," Bak said, and the child turned his head slightly in his direction, signalling that the latter was paying attention. "It'll be a battlefield out there soon enough."

The child tilted his head slightly, but did not turn around any further.

"I – we – already know that you're just as reckless as your wielder," Bak said, making a vague gesture towards himself and Miranda, the latter of whom watched the child nervously. "But if you go out there and the Earl sees you and realises what you're capable of…"

The child turned halfway now, masked features watching him. Bak held his breath momentarily, and only a few seconds later, the cloaked child's figure flickered briefly before disappearing altogether, at which Bak exhaled exasperatedly before turning towards Miranda, who in turn directed her still startled eyes towards him. "Come on," he said, holding out his hand towards her. "We should move."

**- o0o -**

"_Say, Allen…"_

**- o0o -**

"_Don't you have any friends?"_

**- o0o -**

He lifted his head slightly where it had previously been resting against the side of Tyki's neck, tiredly shifting his attention back to his surroundings all whilst deliberately ignoring the highly undignified position in which he was still being carried, propped up against the other's side, because highly undignified or not – not to even mention the fact that he had an admitted aversion to extended periods of physical proximity in general – he found that it would take an even greater amount of energy to struggle against it. In the end, it would take energy he either did not have or could very well use for other things, and in the end, the position he was in now was at least slightly better than before, seeing that he was in a slightly more upright position, supported from beneath by Tyki's arm. He must have been quite light then, Allen supposed, because in his book the manner in which he was being held was how one would hold a child. Then again, from the point of view of the members of the Noah family – and of the Earl in particular – perhaps he was more of a child; a fledgling that could still be shown some degree of leniency even in the face of a brewing storm.

From his elevated position up in the skies, he found himself overlooking the landscape. Occasionally, he found that his eyes sought out the horizon, but most of the time his visible attention was directed towards the town of Edo spanning out below all whilst he watched Earl along with the other members of the Noah family that were present at the scene out of the corner of his eye. With the Earl having seemingly summoned what could very well be just about all akuma present in Japan and seemingly combining the lower levelled ones into a pair of massive giants, it was not exactly difficult to determine just what the man could possibly be planning, seeing that the man was with all due likelihood very much aware of the presence of not only Cross Marian but also that of other exorcists either in or in the immediate vicinity of Edo. Then again, doing just that – making a huge spectacle out of assembling all those akuma in Edo – was little more than a diversion – a red herring – to distract them from what was really going on behind the scenes, or so Allen himself figured, because physical exhaustion aside, there was little wrong with his mind – no more than usual at any rate – and capability of reasonable thought, and it did not exactly take a genius to figure out that there was something else going on behind the scenes.

If anything, Allen supposed, then Road's absence from the line-up – she was by no means the only known member of the Noah family to be absent, seeing that a few of the ones he had had the questionable pleasure of laying eyes on when summoned to the family meeting – was probably the most conspicuous, and along with the hints Tyki had been dropping along the way it was only fair to assume that Road's absence was directly related to the things that were either taking place or about to take place behind the scenes, and said events were with all due likelihood related to the Ark in some manner – if Allen's intuition could still be trusted, that is. Besides, if Cross Marian's purpose for being in Edo did truly have something to do with the Ark, it probably made sense to leave someone on the inside capable of operating the thing, and with the Earl keeping Allen – the only one with at least the potential to operate the Ark besides Road and himself – under his watch, Cross' possible routes into the Ark were quite limited. After all, if Road was already inside the Ark, then that left the Earl and possibly Allen, though Allen himself _hadn't_ – not to the extent of his own knowledge at any rate – openly proven this suspected ability of his, because even if the Fourteenth had been capable of controlling the Ark, it did not necessarily guarantee Allen's own ability in the matter as far as he himself was aware. Then again, if Tyki said so then the aforementioned information had no doubt come from the Earl himself, meaning that even if Allen's ability to control the Ark wasn't given in reality, it was still an actual factor as far as the Earl was concerned. If such was also the case as far as Cross was concerned remained to be seen, but if it was indeed so then the probability of him being targeted by the man was high. Even so, the likelihood of the elusive general staging an outright attack was highly unlikely. After all, as far as Allen himself was concerned, Cross Marian was a man of underhanded means who held few qualms about just who or what he stomped upon in the process of reaching his goals.

Admittedly, Allen himself held no particular delusions of his own grandeur; in the end, he and Cross were in a way similar, though he was not particularly willing to admit such a thing out loud. They were not good people, and if it suited them and their purposes, they would use whichever means they thought was necessary to achieve them. As far as Allen himself was aware – or at least as far as he thought himself capable of accurately judging the man's character – they were both more keen on dodging thing their problems if they could, and if they could not then they were perfectly capable of eliminating them altogether, should such a thing was required. Then again, regardless of who could truly be defined as worse, Allen had established his own opinion of the man years prior and honestly doubted there would be much need of a revision; after all, he was hardly one to take kindly to those who had made seeming attempts – more than just once – on his life and general livelihood, and he had shown as much in him stabbing the man in what in Allen's opinion at least ought to be their latest encounter.

As such, Cross really ought to know that there were no warm feelings between them, and if Allen's own assessment of the man's character was at least remotely accurate, Cross was hardly a man foolish enough to naturally assume that such actions – or rather, attempted actions – would be forgiven either in time or in presenting a remotely valid reason for having taken such actions in the first place. Then again, Cross was not exactly the type of man who felt the need to have the forgiveness of another human being, and possibly even less of a need for that of a Noah. Admittedly, Allen himself readily admitted to not quite understanding human beings and the ways in which they worked, but it was still rather debatable whether or not the man in question could qualify as one, but then again, in the end, what was a proper human being anyway?

Humanity was and had always been corrupted, and so was the world said humanity thought themselves to govern; in the end, both were gradually spiralling out of control – if they had ever been under any semblance of control in the first place, that is. Even so, be it as it may or may ever have been, it hardly mattered much now if at all.

The world along with its troubles; he could have done well without most of them, but in the end, perhaps it was not up to him to choose. Whether he liked it or not, others had chosen him, and finding it too troublesome to resist a gradually strengthening current, he had – more or less willingly – allowed himself to be swept along with it, landing him where he was now, figuratively standing on the very precipice of the unknown; at the crossroads of paths more often and less ventured, leading towards unknown.

In the end, he too had been dragged along, corrupted by the world and its troubles; lured in by the seeming kindness of one madman to eventually end up in the grasp of another. Then again, it would hardly be fair to blame it all on Mana; admittedly, with him being who he was and with them meeting in such a way, it would perhaps be a bit more appropriate to blame it all on chance; on coincidence. Then again, there were no coincidences; there were merely the illusion of them along with the seemingly inevitable. Mana turning up at the circus eventually had likely been inevitable, given the limited number of circuses and the man's seeming inability to remain in the same place for long, but for them to meet the way that they did – through their mutual acquaintance with Allen the Dog – seemed just a tad too convenient in hindsight.

As for the latter, it really should not have mattered seeing that the man in question had since long perished, but however infrequently and far in-between, Allen found his thoughts returning to the man, his memories scattered about but still surprisingly vivid. There had been a time when the other's words had been his guidelines; however foolish a notion it might have been at the time, somewhere deeply within, he had been willing to change – at least to some extent – and to – however temporarily – live in a world crafted from the delusions of the aforementioned madman. However – regardless of how much of his motives for tagging along with the other had been due to his own desire to escape what had at the time seemingly been his lot in life – that had not been all of it. However small and seemingly insignificant, there had been something more than that; that there had been something beyond it, of a connection neither of them knew about but others certainly suspected.

As Red, he had neither liked nor trusted people. As Allen, he had honestly thought that the same applied – for the most part, at any rate – only to discover that not even he was entirely immune to the seduction of prolonged periods of human companionship. He might not have actively sought it – not consciously at least, and not after the thing with Mana – but once he had it he hadn't shrugged it off as quickly as he should have, having noted that despite the vast amount of inconvenience it brought, a prolonged companionship did harbour certain advantages. However, if he had realised back then just how vital his existence would become to his former companions, then he – as he was back then – probably would not have bothered, for their sakes as well as his own. Truly, had he known the course of the future back then, then he would probably have left them behind at a much earlier state; he probably would not have left them altogether, but he probably would have left them as soon as he was at least fairly certain of their continued survival, because for some reason it mattered to him. Perhaps it was the extended amount of time that he had spent with them that had served not only to make them develop some sort of attachment for him but also for him to develop some sort of attachment to them, coming to view them as something more than just ordinary people. Then again, with them being who they were, perhaps they were not ordinary but rather quite extraordinary in the sense that they had not only had the courage to follow a virtual stranger and seeking to remain with him even after they had come to learn just who and what he was and would eventually become. Admittedly, they had probably feared him at some stage, but in time fear had always given in to fear for him. Truly, he had never met people so concerned with him and his continued livelihood without having some sort of hidden agenda behind it; initially, the Earl had viewed him as something akin to a high-risk investment, and now, his standing in the man's eyes was precarious at best, the Earl's previous assurances aside.

People were deceitful and largely unreliable, and in the end, so was the Earl and so was he. Of all men and women and children Allen could recall having laid eyes upon, Mana had been the only one who never lied – at least not intentionally. Admittedly, madmen did not always tell the truth, but the latter had been a fool and fools rarely had the presence of mind to cheat and lie and manipulate. Mana was a fool, but he was not a liar by any means as far as Allen was concerned. Then again, what the aforementioned was or had at some point been was by no means relevant in the present, given that the man had since long perished. Or was it?

Cross had certainly been keeping an eye on them, trailing Mana for motives best known to himself, and when Allen – then Red – had entered the picture, Cross had confronted him.

He had not shed tears over Mana – not as far as he could recall, or at least not in direct connection to the man's passing. Even so, even without tears it was evident that he had grieved at least on some level, as was proven or at least indicated by the Earl's appearance as well as by his own delayed physical reaction. Back then, he had merely thought of himself as slightly lost and unfeeling, bit in hindsight he could not help but consider the possibility of having been numbed by the shock of it all. Admittedly, the him that existed back then knew death for what it was and declined the offer to supposedly revive Mana, survival instincts overpowering a lingering feeling of sentimentality. After all, he had always had a pretty good eye for spotting madmen, be it in crowded areas during the day or in empty graveyards during the night, and with him already from the moment of having laid eyes on the Earl having drawn the conclusion that the man in question was probably a bit insane to say the very least, it only made sense not to buy into any offers, and particularly not those that sounded far too good to be true. Admittedly, had he opted to grieve more openly and allowed unnecessary feelings to guide his actions then it was entirely possible that he would have fallen into a trap back then. Reasonable thought and sheer practicality had overpowered unwelcome emotions, viewing the offer for what it was and not taking it, saying no when all others said yes. In a way, perhaps that moment could have been seen as a defining one, considering the fact that if he had chosen to take the offer he would either be dead or set down an entirely different path, possibly even with that bastard Cross as his guide.

Truly, the mere thought of such a thing proved positively sickening.

He pushed it aside, refocusing his attention onto his more immediate surroundings, feeling the shifts in energy both nearby and in the distance, both telltale signs that something was about to occur, and soon. With his senses still a bit all over the place, his own perceptions were still not all that reliable. Even so, however faintly, he could sense not only the Earl and his allies – Noah and akuma – within his immediate vicinity but also the exorcists, most of them close to each other with one or possibly two fainter presences nearby but still on their own.

"Ready?" Tyki asked once again, adjusting his grip ever so slightly.

Allen on his end however did not move, quietly allowing himself to be manhandled all whilst hating himself for it. Then again, with his Innocence having remained active for so long, it was really no wonder that he felt drained because he was, and especially so now with the other being in his immediate vicinity, having drained all available sources of energy besides Allen himself, with his own body struggling to once again accommodate it drawing directly from his own energy again, still operating semi-independently but no doubt keen on seeking him out and fully reclaiming his left arm as its place of dwelling.

Truly, he could only hope that the other did not show itself out in the open before seeking him out, because nothing good would come out of the Earl laying eyes on it; Allen knew as much and he knew it really well, and especially so if he would – as he had already anticipated – snap right out of his still precarious Noah transformation once he came into direct contact with it.

Once again, he lifted his head, catching a glimpse of something red – a spark of some sort – right before a dragon made out of fire came rushing towards them all up there in the skies.

Truly, a head-on attack? How positively unimaginative, yet utterly befitting the brunt of the fighting forces of this war, members of the Noah family and of the Order alike…

The way in which Tyki Mikk dealt with the large fire serpent was nearly a bit anticlimactic, considering the fact that he barely shifted in his posture where he stood on top of the air itself so that he was facing the thing with his side, thrusting out his unoccupied hand with his fingers spread wide, seemingly rejecting the oxygen right in front of the thing. And, once the fire had gone out and over the sound of a seemingly disappointed shout coming from somewhere below, Tyki calmly turned his head to Allen, seemingly giving him a quick assessment before smiling wryly. "You okay, Boy?"

Allen gave him a look, but did not deign himself to provide any further answer. Instead, he allowed his eyes to survey their immediate surroundings, spotting a part of the roof of the castle that had not suffered any damage from the fire serpent's onslaught as far as he could see. With a slight head motion, he indicated it to Tyki ignored it in return until Allen, using his highly favourable position, jabbed the other in the ribs, obviously having taken the Noah by some surprise considering the fact that his hand did not go through him.

"Honestly, you want me to drop you?" Tyki asked, his tone a strange mixture of surprise, exasperation and wry amusement.

Actually, being dropped did not sound very appealing in his current state when he had no guaranteed means of saving his own arse should such a scenario come to pass. However, with the Earl allegedly wishing for him to remain in one piece, there would likely be interference in case such a thing really did occur.

"Drop me off over there," Allen finally said, his voice low but perfectly audible as he made a slight gesture towards the area he had in mind. "You can hardly fight while carrying me around, can you?"

"You gravely underestimate me," Tyki responded, obliging nonetheless and making it to the place Allen had pointed out with a few resolute leaps and letting him down. "Besides, your weight – or rather lack thereof – is hardly the problem."

Allen, his feet once again on what could possibly be defined as solid ground – or rather, solid roof tiles – merely snorted a bit indignantly before sliding down into a seated position just as two akuma – a pair of Level-Threes – appeared at either side of him, keeping some amount of distance while still clearly hovering about, no doubt having been tasked with keeping an eye on him.

Clearly drawing similar conclusions, Tyki snickered, putting his hand out and giving Allen's hair an affectionate ruffle – or rather attempting to, as Allen himself shoved the offending limb away, no doubt having predicted the action – and then turned on his heels and jumped down before once again using thin air as his stepping stones all whilst Allen remained on the roof, finding his new perch much better suited for keeping an eye on the events unfolding below. Even so, he was by no means naïve enough to assume that he was out of reach of them, because even though he found himself in a position very similar to a spectator seated up on a balcony in a theatre, the scene was still an improvised one and he knew well that at least some of the actors below would seek to involve him if they could.

Then again, speaking of actors…

**- o0o -**

"_Say, Allen…"_

**- o0o -**

He suppressed a sudden urge to shudder, trying to dull his senses; to deafen them to the never-ending echoes of inner voices.

**- o0o -**

"_Don't you have any friends?"_

**- o0o -**

"_Don't you have any friends?" _Mana had asked him the first time they had met face to face, as Red the Stray and as Mana the Mad Clown.

"_Don't you have any friends?"_ the madman had asked him.

**- o0o -**

"_Friends?"_

**- o0o -**

_"…I'm strong enough, so I don't need friends."_

**- o0o -**

"…_I don't need friends…"_

**- o0o -**

Overlooking the battles unfolding below, he could not help but wonder.

**- o0o -**

"_**Strong enough?"**_

**- o0o -**

"_**When is that?"**_

**- o0o -**


	46. The Forty–Sixth Testament

_...  
><em>

**- o0o -**

**The Forty-Sixth Testament**

**The Time to Choose**

**- o0o -**

The wind picked up slightly, bringing in a whisper of the ocean breeze before abruptly shifting direction so that it was coming from the area further inland, bringing whispers of actors who had yet to arrive but were well on their way, keeping their distance for now whilst remaining as unseen reinforcements unbeknownst to those who would come to be in need of them very soon if Allen's gauge of their respective abilities – along with their ability to function as a team – whilst battling against the Earl and his forces served as any sort of indication. Then again, speaking of the aforementioned…

Albeit somewhat grudgingly, Allen had to admit that there was some amount of entertainment value in seeing the other's reaction to having his coat singed by the now dispersed fire serpent. It was not as though such a flimsy and ill-coordinated attack could pose as much of a threat; it was an annoyance at best, capable of inflicting what could possibly be seen as the equivalent of a bug bite. Had the situation been different, and had the aforementioned onslaught been a part of a well-coordinated assault, then things might have been different, because no matter how superficial the damage might have seemed, fact remained that the aforementioned attack of seeming flimsiness had been capable of inflicting some – however superficial – damage to the Earl's outer shell, which was nothing to look down on even whilst taking the Earl's relative lack of seriousness into consideration. Still…

He lifted his head ever so slightly, levelling his eyes on the late evening horizon. A waxing crescent hung in the sky, overlooking the events much like he was. Vaguely, it occurred to him that he had not laid eyes upon it for what felt like quite some time, so unlike in his youth when he often stared up at the night skies. Before having been brought to Edo, he had after all spent an unknown amount of time not only on the road but also a prisoner in an underground cell, and in Edo – as far as he himself could recall at any rate – he had either spent his days in pale daylight or vivid twilight after the Earl had finally caved in and allowed him out of the confines of the Ark.

Now, the clear night skies lay above him, stretching from horizon to horizon, the silvery crescent overlooking it all, seemingly without a care as to the battles still taking place below. If not for the latter, then…

"_It's beautiful."_

Mana had always had this weird obsession with beautiful things, his broken mind rambling on and on and on about the beautiful world and whatnot. A beautiful world? In hindsight, Allen did wonder just what such a world could possibly entail and just who such a world would include. Perhaps it was the Fourteenth – perhaps it was Neah – who had promised Mana such a thing, promised to circumvent whichever master plan the Earl had sought to include them in or to hijack it for their own purposes.

"_It's beautiful."_

A beautiful world – indeed, it begged the question as to what such a world could possibly entail, along with the question as to just who and what had to be sacrificed in order to obtain it. In the Earl's case, the sacrificial lamb was obviously humanity along with Innocence through not only the use of pawns such as the akuma but also through the use of agents such as the members of the Noah family. Now, the Fourteenth and his motives on the other hand…

Then again, Allen supposed it was a strange thing to attempt to discern the motivations of a person he himself could by no means recall ever having met face to face, and – seeing that the occurrence of an eventual reunion in some form seemed fairly inevitable at the present time – it would probably make more sense to retrieve his answers directly from the source, even though it was highly doubtful that he would still be interested in such a matter once such a time would occur and even though there was still the possibility of the Fourteenth having suffered some sort of Memory damage courtesy of having been killed, along with the fact that there was really no telling as to what had occurred since the aforementioned Memories were implanted into his body. After all, if the information he had managed to extract from Tyki Mikk's occasionally less than mindless drivel served as any sort of indication, not even the members of the Noah family remained unscathed, or at least not when they had been taken out by a member of their own kin. As for the latter, the exact process of going through with such a thing ought to have been tedious and – judging from the number of people the Fourteenth did manage to take on and out of the equation the last time around – ought to have demanded not only some sort of planning but also quite a bit of tactics, precision, timing and probably also the element of surprise seeing that it was highly doubtful that the Fourteenth would have been able to do as much damage to the clan as he did if he had not.

As for this time around – unlike with the Fourteenth – it was really plainly obvious that there were eyes resting on him, watching him keenly. If not for the Earl's allegedly explicit orders not to lay a hand on him, then he – already having been deemed a threat – would no doubt have been disposed of at the first available opportunity, and he was very much aware of that, just as he was very much aware of the Earl's apparent ambivalence pertaining to his evident reluctance in regards to allowing him to slip out of sight along with his equally evident desire to see to that he was protected, both from outer forces as well as from himself. Seeming good intentions aside, it was hardly a comforting notion when it all came down to it, seeing that a gilded cage was still a cage and restraints were still restraints regardless of their intended purpose.

Then again, when it all came down to it, perhaps it was a highly irrelevant thing to ponder, seeing that such protections were in place not because Allen was Allen but rather because he was a host – a vessel – for the one the Earl really wanted to protect. Still…

Even now, he could vividly recall the foreign sensation of having been touched; of the other's presence enveloping him protectively, calling for Allen rather than for Neah or for the Fourteenth. Since every Noah out there as far as Allen was aware knew well who he was and just whose Memories he hosted and just what such a thing entailed, investing oneself emotionally in what was expected to be a temporary substitute for the real thing was a waste of effort from his own point of view, even though it was a given that he himself would not give up his own body merely because he – or some incarnation of him, at any rate – had made a promise to do so. Still, if recent events served as any kind of indication, it was not as though he would be able to escape the confines of such a promise completely, even though he was understandably reluctant to allow his place as well as his own sense of self to be usurped completely. Still, that having been said, it was also evident that he – as Allen, even without having awoken completely – could still make use of the other's knowledge and abilities for a limited amount of time, but when it came to limitations, similar limitations also applied to…

"_Allen."_

He resisted a sudden urge to turn his head and to direct his eyes towards its perceived direction, his eyes and attention flickering there only briefly. He did not attempt to answer it, because even though they had previously made use of whichever link existed between them, there was really no guarantee that his response would find its way towards its intended recipient and not be overheard.

A slight breeze stirred up the hair on the back of his head, baring his neck and sending an involuntary chill down his spine as it came into contact with his bare skin where he had broken out in cold sweat, his body rapidly catching up to the long overdue consequences of retaining a partial invocation for much longer than should be considered humanly possible. Displaying signs of exhaustion however was just the beginning; if the same thing as prior to this whole mess still held true, then he would be coughing up blood at the very least, something he by no means looked forward to, even though he was also very much aware of the fact that the rebound would get worse the longer he put it off. Truly, considering the setting and company and all, how utterly inconvenient…

"_**Allen?"**_ It was closer this time, and from not one but two different sources, one superimposed upon each other, two different voices from opposing sides, both of them whispering to him, calling out to him and demanding his attention.

A renewed bout of vertigo struck him as he rose to his feet, but he did not falter and remained steady as it diminished once more. The battle – or rather, _the battles_ – was still going on down below, and those down there who were caught up in it all hardly had time to spare him more than a thought. Admittedly, he was by no means out of reach for some of them, but with the akuma giants, Tyki, Skin, Jasdero and Devitto wreaking havoc down below, there were far more immediate threats to deal with far closer to home.

A slight fluctuation in his immediate surroundings alerted him to the Earl's imminent arrival, and he turned his head slightly to look over his shoulder. The akuma lowered their heads as a sign of respect before being dismissed, and the Earl closed in on him until they were nearly standing side by side, overlooking the things taking place below. "You don't look well," the Earl noted, seemingly scrutinising him out of the corner of his eye. "Perhaps you should really withdraw."

Allen said nothing but cast a sideways look in the other's direction, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "It was you who insisted on bringing me out here," he finally responded, taking a step to the side to put some distance between them. "Why?"

To keep him within sights for the sake of his own protection was one reason and a fairly valid one at that, but it could hardly be the only one now, could it?

For a while, the Earl said nothing, attention seemingly stolen away by the events taking place below. "You are still young, foolish child, young and inexperienced," the man finally chuckled, once again taking to the skies with the aid of his umbrella. "There are still things you have yet to learn, and your own place is one of them."

_My place?_ Allen felt the urge to snort in disbelief but settled for merely averting his eyes, forcing back another bout of nausea. _My place is…_

His eyes snapped back to the scene of the battle, and he looked on as the two akuma giants were both brought down in swift succession, helped along by the newly arrived exorcist reinforcements. With the sudden decrease of opponents, he felt eyes seek him out anew but paid them no heed as his own attention was soon snatched away. He snapped his eyes towards the Earl who was now back up in the skies, and his eyes immediately zeroed in on the small but highly concentrated sphere of Dark Matter hovering just above the other's gloved palm. Then, amidst hearing cries containing both some degree of surprise as well as outrage, his senses picked up on another's approach. Seconds later, a mildly dishevelled-looking Tyki Mikk turned up beside him, slightly out of breath from the looks of it.

"Come on," Tyki urged, sending off a look in the Earl's direction. Allen mimicked the motion, and was able to visually confirm what he had already been expecting, seeing that the small sphere in the Earl's palm had begun growing at a positively alarming rate. "We're pulling a temporary strategic retreat. Fun time's over."

- o0o -

The soon following blast of Dark Matter pretty much levelled just about everything within the range of at least one kilometre both in and around the city of Edo, covering what little remained of it with a layer of black substance – Dark Matter – with the exception of Edo castle, on which roof they were still perched, overlooking the scene of seeming devastation and desolation that lay before them. "Whoa…" Tyki noted, a hint of breathlessness to his voice. "He levelled Edo."

Allen made no comment, smacking away the hand that was still hovering dangerously close to his left shoulder before levelling his eyes on the levelled landscape below as it was gradually revealed for all to see as lingering miasma dispersed, registering the sound of the Earl sneezing somewhere in the background. As for the latter, he did not bother directing any further attention towards it – trusting that his own ears had already provided any information which could possibly be deemed relevant – and instead continued looking down at the levelled city below and at just what – along with just who – was gradually revealed with the miasma either dispersing completely or being blown away by the breeze as it picked up in strength anew, its direction gradually changing. Beside him, Tyki leant forward slightly in keen interest, shadowing his eyes even though there was hardly a need to do such a thing in the first place. "Oho, I spy survivors," he said, by no means disappointed from the sound of it. "Some still standing… and in one piece at that. Honestly, with that previous blast then-…" He was ultimately cut short as a noticeable fluctuation of energy parted a huge segment of lingering miasma, revealing the one apparently responsible.

An eerily familiar mask of black and silver peeked out from beneath an equally familiar hooded and slightly shimmering cloak, billowing around the one wearing it, its unseen gaze no doubt directed straight at them as it stood protectively in front of a few of the fighters from the exorcist party, most of whom eyed it with an amount of shock and bafflement relatively equal to that of most members of the Noah family bearing eyes upon it.

Allen's amber-coloured eyes briefly flickered off in direction of the members of the Noah family that were present at the scene, gauging their reactions momentarily before once again directing his attention towards what was taking place down below, clearly feeling the burning of multiple pairs of eyes watching him, from that particular direction as well as from elsewhere. Letting out an amused snort lay very close at hand, but he resisted the urge, remaining where he was, overlooking the spectacle going on below while also keeping an eye on the one unfolding up in the skies and within his immediate proximity.

Overcoming previously having been shocked into a brief period of speechlessness, Tyki – not tearing his eyes from the sight – spoke up, his voice – presumably along with others – coloured with clear disbelief. "No way… isn't that…?"

Allen tore his eyes from the scene and closed them, relying more on his other senses. Even during the time he had spent in relative isolation – from them, at any rate – he found that he could still pick out their presences from amongst others, locating them with relative ease even though he himself felt rather all over the place.

Miranda Lotto – the cowardly and mostly useless woman Allen had at some point picked up on a whim – had entered the fray, summoning her Innocence to provide protection from the effects of the blast of Dark Matter, and along with her had another entered the scene whilst hiding in the presence of a third, and it was that third that now stood down there in his own image – well, his previous one, at least – whilst its responsible invocator proved harder to pinpoint as his own senses had never quite become attuned to the other's presence. As for Miranda herself, Allen held little doubt that the woman ought to be scared out of her own wits, no doubt guided into interference by a hastily formulated plan laid out by Bak Chan if anything, seeing that such rash and possibly even suicidal motions did not go very well with Miranda's character, seeing that her once despairing and possibly suicidal tendencies aside, the act of actively throwing oneself into the line of an enemy attack was still ill-suited, prospective protective tendencies aside. It was no doubt in Allen's mind that that man – that Bak Chan – had orchestrated this to some extent, and had no doubt also had his hand in having the designated decoy wear the skin of the Crowned Clown, and even though Allen had to admit that such a feint was an undeniably creative move, it was ultimately a futile one, because outer likeness aside, it was ultimately just a superficial copy rather than the real thing, and a guardian deity or not, it really stood no chance against akuma and even lesser of a chance against a member of the Noah family, not to even mention the fact that such an invocation – much like that of any other invocation – ought to be limited to the amount of energy that could be provided along with the amount of time whichever medium it had been summoned through could stand the pressure.

During the time he spent in captivity at the Order, he had ultimately – in one way or the other – sensed the presence of the other – of this supposed guardian deity – however, he had paid very little heed to it in general seeing that its presence in the very structure of the place had by no means prevented his own senses from roaming while he had been physically confined to but a single room. If anything, the presence of this supposed deity – or in his mind, entity – had mostly been disregarded, considering the fact that it had never actively sought to cause him much grief beyond keeping him confined, and as for the latter, it had probably been to the benefit of everyone in the end. Besides, his actual confinement had not so much been the fact that the doorway appeared and disappeared at the whims of this guardian or at the whims of whomever had the authority to command it; it had rather been the seal-covered manacles that had kept him put, even though it was also a given that he had not quite had all that many places to go to in the shape that he had been at the time.

Aleister Crowley – the man of both cowardice and unbelievable fierceness Allen had also picked up on his way eastward – was also out there, having arrived in Edo and made his presence known alongside the other people included in the reinforcements, the latter of whom no doubt consisted of the team of exorcists tied to the bespectacled general with the brush and canvas, even though the latter seemingly had yet to make his appearance, for better or worse. Crowley was there and so was Timothy Hearst – the brat; the runt of the litter in one way or the other – even though the latter's presence was not all there for him, split in two and radiating strongly from one part and faintly from the other, the latter no doubt being the other's temporarily vacant body and the former being whichever akuma – whichever vessel – the other had chosen to possess in the midst of it all.

Before they had entered the picture, he had been alone and perfectly satisfied in his life of solitude, shunning company rather than seeking it. Admittedly, the latter still applied as far as he himself was concerned, however, it would seem as though his previous tagalongs – along with any others of a similar constitution they had managed to pick up on the way – would beg to differ as far as this particular point was concerned.

Allen finally averted his eyes from the spectacle, a mild look of distaste gracing his features.

Why couldn't they understand?

Why did they have to step forward, ignoring his wishes?

Whichever acts of his could have served to inspire such foolish – such positively suicidal – loyalty?

He shouldn't have cared about their fates; they had already claimed themselves capable of making their own decisions, and should as such also be deemed capable of dealing with the consequences of the aforementioned decisions. But still…

They had followed him; that was their business.

If they got themselves killed, that was their problem.

He had warned them; they hadn't listened.

He had always known it would all come to end rather badly if they stuck with him; he had seen it.

In the end – and as he had made pretty clear from the very beginning – the overall fate of the world was of very little concern to him, seeing that he had not expected – and still did not quite expect – to live very long. Whether he had already been corrupted by the world and its troubles or not did not matter; ultimately, like theirs, his own existence was limited and even if he extended it as far as he could, it would eventually come to an end and everything should come to an end with it. And then…

He really didn't understand humans; he really didn't. Whether or not he would still have – or had ever had for that matter – the right to refer to himself as such was debatable; then again, there were a whole lot of things that could be seen as debatable, his own position being one of them. Precarious, yes, but hardly set in stone, regardless of what the Earl wanted him to believe. Then again, seeing that he – at least in the eyes of the parties involved – could either go one way or the other, perhaps it was?

Even in his state of relative exhaustion – just waiting for the full force of the long delayed rebound to hit – he found the thought of such a thing positively revolting. Be it advice or outright orders, doing what he was told was not his way of living. When it all came down to it, he did not take well to being ordered around; to be kept in relative isolation, to be protected and shielded from what others viewed as potentially harmful influences one moment, only to be dragged right back into it all in the next. Then again, what had played out before him was nothing more than a travesty when it all came down to it – a travesty and a lesson, meant to teach him about things words alone could not teach. His own elevated position – up on a rooftop of the castle – was by no means a coincidence; it worked excellently to prove a point, that he stood above those measly humans below, both in a pure physical sense and in terms of status. However, that was not all there was to it; not by any means, and faced with his former companions now, with them on one side and him seemingly on the other, things had ultimately played out perfectly in order to drive him into a corner, seeking to push him towards the choice he would – in their opinion – eventually have to make, and depending on which, his own position would change from one thing to the other.

The Earl or the Order; the Noah family or the Innocence; life or death…

In the end, it hardly mattered now, did it?

Back then, in his mundane life as a circus kid, not getting involved had been his preferred way of life and if he could have, he would have liked to keep himself away from it all, keeping his own involvement with the world as well as the world's involvement with him to an absolute minimum, but in the end, not even he could remain as he had once been. In the end, his social instincts – however stunted – had ultimately led him to seek out other human beings and to engage with them. In the end – however seemingly pointless conversation it had all been – he had been the one to initiate those conversations, unwittingly forming connections to the most troublesome people he could ever have encountered.

He wanted to turn around fully – to turn his back on all of it – but he found himself rooted more firmly instead. _I don't want to get involved…_

The wind shifted direction again, responding to the shifting energies in the air. He closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable response.

"_You're already involved, Allen."_

He knew that already; in a way, he had always known.

- o0o -


	47. The Forty–Seventh Testament

_Long time no see._

_It sure took a while to straighten things out – it's still probably a tad confusing to some, but things will become clearer soon enough. Anyways, here it is. Another will be along very soon._

_In any case, I have written an approximate prediction for the fall season which is currently on my profile, so if you're keen on finding out either why I am not updating a particular fic or which ones I am working on at the moment, feel free to drop by. Or, if you feel like it, ask._

_Cheers._

**- o0o -**

**The Forty-Seventh Testament**

**The Deals to Be Made**

**- o0o -**

"_You have already gone past the critical point…"_

- o0o -

"_The decision is no longer only yours to make…"_

- o0o -

"_Because…" _

- o0o -

_"You're already involved, Allen."_

- o0o -

He felt it suddenly like a fist to his gut, stealing the breath out of him. It was not a blow however; what ailed him was not due to outer forces, but rather due to those still raging within, clawing at his insides.

He coughed once, then twice, and then an unknown number of times – lightly at first, then gradually more violently – and gasped for breath in-between, whenever his mildly convulsing body allowed for it; such mutiny, at such an inopportune moment.

He could taste blood in his mouth. Blood; a brightly coloured coppery liquid coursing through the veins of him and others – well, humans at any rate, because the akuma had black blood; Dark Matter.

Innocence had no blood; Innocence just immersed itself into already existing material and bodies, draining energy from its general surroundings or from its chosen medium to manifest itself.

Innocence was parasitic – it was a parasite that fed on emotions and that past a certain stage relied on blood and human tissue to repair and reform itself if damaged, even at the potential cost of an accommodator's life. Then again, since it was ultimately a parasite and ultimately failed to thrive without a compatible host, sustaining the life of the aforementioned host was naturally a concern for it, even though said concern often fell short of the Innocence's own desire to protect and preserve itself.

To defy the will of the Innocence – to betray a contract forced upon oneself, more often than not without one's consent – ultimately meant becoming a Fallen One, but…

"_Allen…"_

It called out to him once more, and he screwed his eyes shut, taking a few much needed yet positively agonising breaths, having sunk down to one knee somewhere along the way to steady himself and to keep himself from falling over.

"_Allen…"_

As a member of the Noah family possessing Innocence – as a heretic – he really ought to have fallen a long time ago, yet he had not, and it was by no means the prelude of falling that he was experiencing, but rather the inevitable rebound of a prolonged – if limited – invocation.

"_Allen?"_

It was right in front of him now – or at least somewhere really close by – and he actually forced his eyes back open and lifted his gaze as it reached for him, surrounded by radiance. Off in the distance, beyond a seemingly thickening fog of static, he thought he heard the sound of voices, calling out to him.

Mustering energy he was not aware that he still possessed, he turned his head slightly, but the movement only served to disorient him. Again, the illuminated spectre reached for him, but before it reached him, a massive shadow cut into their midst, repelling it. He attempted to lift his gaze again to confirm just who or what had provided interference, but the searing pain in his lungs and limbs prevented him from retaining more than the slightest semblance of focus, the latter which proved just enough for him to notice himself tipping over. However, the somewhat abrupt meeting with what he could only assume was the tiled roof he last recalled having been on efficiently put an end to all that.

- o0o -

Again, he found himself standing in his inner mindscape, looking up at the crescent moon.

"_I'm sorry,"_ he found himself saying, not entirely sure as to the actual meaning behind those words or to whom he was directing them. _"I screwed up."_

A presence loomed up behind him, and he turned his head slightly, levelling his eyes on the one standing there. Then, he turned around fully, retaining eye contact.

The other just nodded once, seemingly in response to his earlier statement; seemingly aware of just what he did not know, and then beckoned him closer.

He remained where he was, eyeing the other warily.

Around them, the scenery gradually melted away, revealing one that was also vaguely familiar.

What initially struck him was the colour of it. It was red – like his deformed left arm and his hair used to be before the first was stained in blackness and the colour drained from the second.

Once, red had been all that he was – at least in a figurative sense – but now it was only his flesh and blood that retained the colour which had previously been such a significant part of him, of his outer appearance as well as his inner one. He still liked the colour, along with the warm colours he associated with fire, and he particularly liked watching the skies when they shifted from blue to reddish before darkening to near complete blackness. The warm shades of varying brilliance had always had this strangely soothing effect on him, warming him on some level in ways regular daylight would not. The latter was all too bright for him – too bright but also too distant. It was bland and uninteresting then, and nothing like it was whenever the sun either rose above the horizon or moved to sink beneath it, setting fire to the skies and lands in its immediate vicinity to mark the births and deaths of days as they passed by, often in a largely pointless blur of tediousness and occasional hardship.

Now however, colour had either drained from him entirely or stained him in darkness as the disciples of the night that had been stained by similar colours had swept in to guide him; to claim him on behalf of the hungry night before the forces of daylight did what they thought was right, because in the end, in a world viewed by others as one stained in black and white, a grey existence like himself could not very well be allowed to roam freely even though it was a given fact that he lacked the purity necessary to be fully accepted as a member of either side.

Had he wanted to become an exorcist; had he wanted to fight against the Earl and his army, then he would no doubt have been forced to battle against not only his own self but against the prejudices of others at the point of him being revealed as a member of the Noah family. After all, even _if_ he had sworn himself to the Order and to upholding its policies – however questionable and positively outrageous said policies were – and to remain loyal even though the faith of others would no doubt have wavered or faded altogether, he would no doubt have met with just the same fate as he would have if he had discarded them altogether and joined up with the Earl instead.

To either side, he was a vaguely familiar but still unknown element, and was either to be eliminated as a threat or to be eliminated altogether, because no matter how one put it, he was a threat to either establishment. Admittedly, the leader of one of said establishments – namely the Earl – had not only voiced but also provided some amount of proof that a threat or not, Allen was to be kept alive, most likely due to the Earl still having some unfinished business with the Fourteenth.

Then again, considering the lingering grudge the majority of the clan held towards the aforementioned along with the fact that the Earl had ultimately killed the Fourteenth the last time around, the Earl's continued leniency was by no means guaranteed. Still…

The one standing before him reached out towards him.

"_You must not be sad…"_

Ghostly fingertips brushed against the side of his face.

"_Tragedy… will attract the Earl."_

The other moved forth. Allen remained rooted where he stood, even as ghostly arms wrapped around him, embracing him.

"_So don't be sad,"_ Mana admonished him, clownish appearance melting away and revealing the broken man hidden beneath it. _"Don't be sad."_

Allen found himself suppressing a sudden urge to snort.

Then, even whilst knowing it was utterly pointless to argue with a mere fragment – with a mere memory – he found himself bristling slightly; he wasn't sad, he was…

- o0o -

He stood next to the piano again, thoughtfully running his fingertips over keys either black or white they seemed blinding. He knew it to be a dream of course; he knew it wasn't real, even though he could recall the impressions from that day, engraved as they were in his memory.

That piano – that accursed instrument – had been just that; an instrument which had ultimately done the Earl's bidding. It had been a set trap; a lure meant to tempt and ensnare, and to be used as a means to confirm the man's suspicions.

In a way, he wondered just what the Earl had seen in him back on that winter's eve so long ago.

In a way, he wondered just what he had seen in him in return…

Had he seen his own undoing in those crazed eyes, or had he seen something else entirely, or…?

- o0o -

"_Allen?"_

- o0o -

With a sharp intake of breath, he regained feeling in his limbs and what a feeling it was.

He crumbled nearly instantly, somehow choking down a pained scream as various nerve signals once again reached his brain, delivering messages of pain ranging everywhere from positively insignificant to positively agonising, though the latter obviously craved and subsequently earned the brunt of his attention before it spiralled off elsewhere.

He barely even took note of the coppery taste of blood still in his mouth and of his still burning lungs as he instead caught wind of and in effect latched onto the sounds of what took place around him; of the surprising number of people in his immediate surroundings and of the air, which initially seemed fresh enough but surely enough held a very familiar stagnancy to it. The latter immediately alerted him to his surroundings, leaving him with the rather puzzling mystery in regards to just how in the Hell he had-…

"Allen?"

It took a fair deal of effort on his part, but he did manage to force his eyes open. Blearily, he surveyed his surroundings, and gradually took in the dark shapes of those crouching protectively over him, seemingly shielding him from other dark shapes.

There was a hand on his shoulder and another one in his hair, fingers immersed in it. Then, there were voices – muffled and so near, yet seemingly so far away – drifting in and out of focus.

"_-…You think he hit his head or something?"_

Gradually, the images cleared, along with the sounds accompanying it.

"_Idiot, we should just-…"_

The Ark?

He lay on his side, and someone – Miranda, he realised with a start – nervously hovered above him, no doubt kneeling right next to him, whilst a bristling Timothy along with a surprisingly feral-looking Crowley stood guard over them; one on each side, providing a fragile shield between them and the other exorcists, who appeared to be coping with the situation in quite different ways whereas some seemed fairly ready to maim someone whilst others seemed wary and an additional few even seemed to be trying to placate the aggressors, no doubt working towards setting up some sort of negotiation.

Given the seeming situation, Allen had a fair idea as to what such a negotiation could possibly include, and as to what leverage there could possibly be. For one thing, he was certainly an issue to a majority of them, and for another, there was no doubt the issue of getting out of the Ark, to which he could obviously be used as some sort of leverage.

Of course, the latter by no means shed any light upon the uncertainty in regards to how this kind of situation had managed to occur in the first place, but even in his own rather sorry state, he was able to determine that the likelihood of it being some sort of trap was very high.

Then again…

He allowed his eyes to slide back shut.

Around him, there were too many things going on around him; too many stimuli for his already strained senses to handle.

Voices above him, whispering…

"_Hey, lay that off for a sec! Shouldn't we be focusing on figuring out how to get-…?"_

"_-…No time! This place will-…"_

_This place will…_

- o0o -

Darkness made its inevitable return, and with it came the quite often so prevalent static which lay at the very fringes of it. Beyond it were the voices that much like the static remained stubborn in their existence, reaching him though he should by no means have been within their range; demanding his attention – always – even at times when he had little or no attention to give or little or no desire to give that which he had to spare.

They were there, as he – whilst temporarily lacking the ability to discern the messages they sought to convey – could still perceive them, however faintly. Admittedly, there was an undeniable and quite significant amount of interference from the static, leaving only fragments of them to be salvaged by a pragmatic mind which he momentarily did not possess.

Even so, he perceived them and occasionally even fragments of their content; bits and pieces of a world – be it dream or reality, past or future – he had temporarily lost his grips on as he had returned to the dark abyss of his own mind. Still…

"…_-the Earl…"_

"…_-Innocence…"_

"…_-fighting…"_

"…_-body won't…"_

"…_-would've extracted…"_

"…_-too deeply connected…"_

"…_-psyche…"_

"…_-either kill him or risk…"_

"_...-can only get worse…"_

"…_-fully expect that-…"_

"…_-keep it in mind…"_

_What?_

The voices were still there; they were still out there, beyond the darkness and the static and just out of reach whilst still partially within it. He could still perceive them – vaguely – but they were starting to get further out of range again and had already become increasingly swallowed up by the darkness and static separating him from the world which was somewhere out there, trapping him or shielding him or perhaps even-…

It was stealing his breath again. Some part of him was well aware of that it was entirely possible that it was not in an entirely physical sense, but it hardly mattered whether or not it would count as real by the standards of others. It felt very real to him; it felt like he had been submerged in some unknown liquid thicker than water and was repeatedly choking on it. It was an intrusive and suffocating notion, and whatever it truly was grounded in, it felt as though there was something persistently blocking his airways, keeping oxygen from reaching his lungs the way that it should have.

The pain – coupled with the burning sensation of his lungs as well as of the rest of his body – ultimately allowed some degree of clarity to seep through to him. It was familiar, clawing at his insides, and – judging from recent and not so recent indications – it was in some way related to him experiencing certain respiratory difficulties.

Somewhere along the way – back in what he could only presume was reality – his Noah transformation had cancelled out. So had his invocation – however partial it had been in the first place – which ought to have left him remarkably vulnerable amongst whichever warring faction had ultimately found him first.

If his last shaky perceptions and subsequent recollection of events could be trusted, then he had last found himself amongst a bunch of exorcists in a crumbling Ark, which proved a puzzling notion altogether, both in regards to just how he had ended up inside the Ark and in regards to how he had ended up in such company.

Ultimately, he lacked the data necessary in order to put everything together – namely in order to fit the scattered pieces together into a meaningful picture which would make it apparent just how he had ended up in what he at least presumed to be his latest predicament.

Vaguely, he recalled having been carried upon someone's back – Crowley's, presumably, considering everything – and caught a fragment of a fidgeting Miranda nearby along with a familiar brat glaring murderously at someone outside of his range of perception, posture strangely similar to that of a tiny guard dog vehemently defending an injured pack mate.

A highly amusing notion no doubt, though it was hardly the time to muse upon such a thing even though the pain had once again receded or rather faded from his consciousness. Either way, some part of him did spare a moment to snort inwardly at it all, though it was cut short as another onslaught of agony hit him as he once again reconnected with his physical senses – albeit briefly – before returning to the blackness again with the unmistakable taste of blood in his mouth.

It suddenly occurred to him that he was probably dying – well, in a physical sense, at any rate – and he absentmindedly took in the fact that he barely even paid it any heed, as though it hardly mattered whether or not he lived. It was almost as though he was in some way beyond all of that and quite over it already, or at least so he thought, up until he once again felt a foreign presence brush up against the outskirts of his mind, causing the wave of nauseating pain to spike briefly before gradually receding, leaving a sickening and invasive feeling in its wake.

He found himself shuddering mentally before pushing the feeling aside in an attempt to regain focus. Soon, he found himself back in the more familiar parts of his own mindscape, overlooking the ruined world reflected in the water's surface and of the shadow which occupied it in his place. The latter however proved the least of his concerns as he instead focused more upon what he could perceive beyond all that.

A strange sense of déjà vu came over him as a disembodied – and dreadfully familiar – voice rose from the waters, rippling the surface, addressing him clearly. More out of instinct than out of any act of conscious will, he raised his hands and pressed them against the sides of his head, covering his ears even though he knew well that it was a futile thing to do as he was neither there in a physical sense nor capable of shutting out the voice of the other, a voice which was neither that of the Fourteenth nor that of the other him, nor that of his Innocence.

He knew it, and he knew it well, though he could not recall who it belonged to. He knew it, and it filled him with a whole array of conflicting emotions. Part of it was – unbelievably – a strange sense of longing that he by no means recognised as his own. Obviously, he rejected it along with the sense of familiarity, but it kept seeping into him even so, influencing him even though he had by no means agreed to such a thing. Trying to block it out, he instead focused on the other feelings that he found himself experiencing, and mainly so on the vehemently ill feeling that came to dominate and influence all others.

Upon paying a greater deal of attention to it, new impressions rose to the surface, intermingling with those already present, making them more pronounced. Dread was one of them, and it was of a peculiar kind – reminiscent of that of an animal cornered by a predator – but he refused to allow it to overpower him, even in his weakened state.

_Weakened?_

He paused briefly, almost immediately questioning the validity of such statement. Admittedly, he had already come to terms with his own relative mortality, along with the fact that he – with all due likelihood – would be forced to struggle harder to retain his sense of self within the near future.

Admittedly, he would not give it up without a struggle, regardless of what had taken place before he had come about; regardless of the promises that had been made, but…

"_…-For you, Allen…"_

"-…_I'm coming…"_

"-…_Allen…"_

_"-…Can't run-…"_

_Can't? _A sudden impulse of anger – brief but potent – ran through him._ Can't? __**Can't?**_

Though he was hardly one to utilise such an emotion for the most part – or perhaps nearly entirely because of it – it had an undeniably cleansing and liberating quality to it, and proved strangely efficient in terms of invigorating him and of burning away those lingering impressions that he had now either deemed redundant or sought to reject altogether.

Then again, it ought to have been pretty damn obvious, wouldn't it? It was not as though he could honestly accept others imposing absolutes upon his very being – or rather, he had come to tolerate it to a certain degree, but now…

Glowing round orbs – distinctly lacking pupils – stared back up at him from beneath and he stared right back, his eyes narrowing somewhat.

Well aware of how he was now teetering on the very edge of a precipice right above a red sea which may well be described as an abyss, he crouched down and extended his hand. In a way, he wondered whether or not this scenario had been part of some kind of secret master plan all along, despite his own attempts at thwarting any and all who had sought to determine his fate. If so, then what came next?

"_Say…"_ – He looked down at the one below. – _"Your objective… is to kill that man, right?"_

- o0o -

"_My selfish request…"_

- o0o -

"_Will you listen to it?"_

- o0o -


	48. The Forty–Eighth Testament

…

**- o0o -**

**The Forty-Eighth Testament**

**The Ones Who Moved Forward**

**- o0o -**

"_My selfish request…"_

- o0o -

"_Will you listen to it?"_

- o0o -

He lifted his head slightly, gazing into the reflective surface before him, the brunt of his attention alternating between the shadowy figure standing behind him and his own slumped frame. The colour of his eyes – previously silver-grey – once again flickered, switching to amber and then back again, even though his skin did not turn grey and instead retained its deathly pallor.

His hair – stark white, as it had been for many years now – was getting a bit on the long side; it reached past his shoulders in some places and tresses of it framed his face, effectively obscuring a large part of his forehead. Not really thinking much of it, he lifted his hand – the one which was still mostly functional – to his head, making a seemingly half-hearted attempt at smoothing his hair out before he caught himself, pausing in the middle of the action.

The shadowy figure in the mirror – the Fourteenth – did not move and was clearly observing him, waiting for his next move. Allen let his hand fall back down again before shifting it and slipping it into the sling supporting his motionless left arm. As if responding to this, the shadowy reflection in the mirror shifted, stepping closer and laying a hand onto the shoulder of his reflection. The latter could have been just as much of a gesture of comfort as a show of ownership, because their respective differences aside, they were ultimately at each other's mercy. Besides, even though the Fourteenth had the seeming advantage, Allen still retained his role as a host, and if something happened to him then the Fourteenth would naturally be inconvenienced, and especially so if Allen himself refused to cooperate. Besides, the idea of just allowing his own self to be eaten away gradually was still not something he could agree to.

The hand on his reflection's shoulder remained, and Allen found himself reaching up, fingertips brushing up against where the hand should have been, hovering in the air momentarily before finally making a sweeping gesture as if attempting to brush the other's limb aside, at which the Fourteenth surprisingly enough moved his shadowy hands slightly, moving to stand at a spot which would have been directly behind him, ghostly fingers moving down from his shoulders, brushing lightly against the upper arms of his reflection. Involuntarily, he shivered, chills running down his spine even though he hadn't really felt anything, seeing that the touch was not physical but rather a delusion; a trick played on him by the other. Even so, Allen found himself stepping closer to the mirror, putting out his hand out and placing his palm flat against the mirror's surface, watching as the images in the mirror distorted slightly before clearing up, showing the Fourteenth's shadowy figure standing there, having taken the place of Allen's reflection – perhaps having absorbed it entirely – and mimicking the posture, his shadowy palm resting against the other side of the glass against the spot where Allen had placed his.

It annoyed him slightly that the other towered over him so, and that the other's shadowy hand was so much bigger than his own; long fingers splayed against the glass. Allen closed his eyes, stepping even closer to the mirror without removing his hand, leaning his forehead against the cool flat surface. When he opened them again, familiar amber-coloured eyes met his, and he withdrew slowly to take a better look at the other, who now looked less like a shadow and more like an actual person. It struck him that the other looked very much like one would imagine a younger Tyki Mikk, and for some reason, that brought a bleak smile to his face; the latter had no doubt suffered for displaying such a physical likeness to a dead man referred to as a traitor to his own kin.

"Hello, Neah," he calmly greeted, sounding far more wistful than bitter. Strangely enough, it was almost as though he had just come face to face with an old acquaintance; not a friend, but still someone known to him.

His hair was – as usual – messy and white, rather unkempt and getting a tad too long for his own tastes. Even so, he found that he could not bring himself to cut it just yet, keeping it in a low and rather loose ponytail whilst still keeping a few tresses loose to partially conceal his forehead along with part of his face, because scars – however old – stood out and especially so against a canvas of a sickly pale skin, forming far too recognisable lines alongside the left side of his face.

Occasionally – and rather casually – Tyki Mikk saw it fit to inform him that his current state of being made him look remarkably much like either a ghost or a fresh corpse, at which Allen saw it fit to retaliate with minor physical violence and the remark that he would much rather look like a fresh corpse than wear the other's dorky glasses, throwing in the occasional jibe at the other's distinctly hobo-like appearance and receiving mitigated ones right back, because even if he himself was a tad better kept than the other, neither of them in their current state gave off the vibe of being upstanding members of society; it was quite the opposite actually.

Then again – courtesy of circumstances – they were technically speaking a type of fugitives. As such, it only made sense to mingle with the crowd and especially with that of the lower levels of society. In almost any society – well, any society that Allen himself had either heard about or seen for himself – there was either a visible or an unseen division between the lower classes and the higher ones, mostly divided alongside lines such as income, property, education and whatnot, with the lower classes either having only limited access to or being nearly completely excluded from the aforementioned.

Either way, it was a well-known fact that wherever one went, the poor would almost always exist in abundance, and – as had since long been made apparent not only for animals but also for humans – there was safety in numbers, and – with the fairly vast number of people who lived either in slums or out on the street – passing by virtually unnoticed wasn't exactly difficult as long as one dressed and behaved in ways that would strengthen the illusion of one's belonging.

Admittedly, they hadn't quite gone as far as to deliberately dress in rags; their clothes were worn, but by no means in rags, placing their supposed societal standing a bit above that of the lowest parts of the very lowest. Even so, it wasn't like they were particularly bad off in reality, seeing that both of them were perfectly capable of stealing the funds necessary to finance their continued journey, seeing that the Earl wasn't providing them with any additional funds. Admittedly – with their quite handy arsenal of fancy tricks – they could very well have entertained quite an audience, but showing off would really defeat the purpose of staying off the radar, because attention in general along with attention from people with connections to the wrong kind of people was more than just a tad inconvenient.

As such, Allen was not surprised when Tyki turned up after a few days with a bottle of hair dye and presented it to him. What did surprise him – and to some extent annoy him – was the colour that the other had oh so cleverly picked, because it was a red colour which looked remarkably much like that of Cross Marian's. Apparently, the other had thought that he would appreciate the irony. He did, but only to a certain extent. Besides, he still liked the colour, and all in all he could probably use a tad more colour than his faded out clothes could provide, and red was still better than white.

Thus, once again a redhead, Allen saw it fit to craft a temporary persona into which he could slip in the offhand case that some responsible citizen of whichever social standing decided to scrutinise him more closely. It was rare though, because people in general didn't care, but whenever the aforementioned situation occurred, he sneered at them to leave him alone in the regional accent – with practiced ease – bringing forth a minor coughing fit all whilst Tyki – whenever available – saw it fit to interfere and to inform whoever had taken a closer interest in them that Allen had contracted tuberculosis, which sent most curious passer-bys off to continue minding their own business, because most really only needed to take a good look at the deathly pale skin and dark circles beneath his eyes and at the frame rocked by a coughing fit to draw certain – albeit incorrect – conclusions.

Admittedly, it got slightly annoying on occasion, but if anything, it was an easy and not too showy way out, as well as an excellent way in which to induce guilt in the minds of some people, who in return – clearly having taken note of Tyki being his companion – approached Tyki instead with a few minor donations, insisting that he should use them to bring "the boy" to a doctor, a few even going as far as to admonish the other for not having done so already, and quite a few of the aforementioned even recommending that they should head for the church.

At this, they had both been hard-pressed to retain at least vaguely neutral facial expressions, but once the aforementioned passerby – the very personification of a meddlesome busybody – was no longer within hearing range and once they themselves had relocated to a back alley, they had actually found themselves laughing quietly at the whole affair. After all, whilst defying the Earl could possibly prove fatal, going to the church meant definite death either immediately or following torture. The fact that they actually laughed about such future prospects did show a quite clear indication as to how far they had already fallen. Then again, perhaps this was just the inevitable result of them hanging out with each other for far too long, given their somewhat warped personalities and senses of humour.

Then again, given that none of those involved in the Black Order had actually seen Tyki's "white" form and with Allen having done a few minor visual alternations, the risk of the Order finding them right off the bat was rather low. Then again, it was not entirely certain that the Order even knew that the two of them had actually broken away from the rest of the clan, and as such, they were highly unlikely to be on the lookout for either beyond that of being on a general lookout for known members of the Noah family.

Truth to be told, though appearing rather simple, the situation at hand was a bit – if not a lot – complicated and precarious at best, and the same applied for their respective positions.

Approximately three months prior, Allen had woken up to a world somewhat different from the one that he could faintly recall, resurfacing from the comatose state that he had sunk into within minutes of the Fourteenth's retreat after the latter had taken over and somehow made it to the secret control room in the Ark, ultimately restoring it to its original state and thereby putting an end to what had seemingly been the Earl's plan to transfer its data to a new Ark, given that the original had allegedly been compromised – even sabotaged – by the Fourteenth. Allen had woken up, and shortly thereafter he had used the Ark – which now responded to him – to stage his escape whilst being filled in on the situation at hand by his companion – Bak Chan – whom he had in turn separated from upon exiting a gate in Germany, despite the other's obvious disapproval.

Then again, all in all, Bak Chan's opinions in regards to it all were hardly of any greater concern to him, because even though the man – a prisoner in a rather precarious position at the time – had managed not to get himself killed by the Fourteenth, there was no guarantee that the latter would be equally courteous next time. Furthermore, there were also the Earl and his kin and minions to consider, and he – Allen that is – held few doubts that Bak would not be surviving another encounter. After all, the previous one had included having a carnivorous golem implanted into the other's body, which had proved quite a hassle for him to remove so soon after he had regained his senses and thus proved a keen motivator for him to ensure that a similar type of situation was avoided, and this method included complete separation and absolute avoidance. Besides, Allen was positive that a man as allegedly resourceful as Bak Chan would manage to make it on his own, at least long enough to reunite with the Order if the other so wished. Admittedly, it definitely wasn't foolproof, but back then, it had been the best arrangement that Allen had been able to come up with at such short notice.

In any case, it hadn't been all that long before his minder – Tyki Mikk, that is, in his "white" form – had turned up, leaning against a nearby wall and smoking a cigarette; all very casually of course, whilst seemingly observing him out of the corner of his eye, no doubt gauging his reactions. If anything, Allen supposed that he ought to praise the other for their seeming acting skills, because all in all, if not for his keen skills of observation, then the other would have seemed perfectly carefree and possibly even a bit bored. If not for the faint but unmistakable twitching, even he might have been fooled by the other's charade. Besides, with the situation being what it had been at the time, such behaviour would have been irrational. Then again, in hindsight, then he supposed that the whole situation had had an obvious tint of surrealism to it, and that they had seen it fit to act accordingly.

In this particular case, acting accordingly had included having a surprisingly civil – albeit somewhat one-sided – conversation, wherein he had pretty much been berated in general; scolded like a child almost, which obviously annoyed him to some degree but was still somewhat more preferable to being beaten nearly to death and then dragged back into the gilded cage that he never again wished to inhabit.

Initially, some part of him had even expected that the Earl himself would make an appearance and do the honours himself, be it to drag him back into the fold or to kill him for taking off on his own. Then again, to kill someone for that reason alone did seem a tad extreme even to him, but with some of his more recent actions both bordering on and way exceeding those which could be viewed as treason – and obviously, with the other being mad and thus occasionally harbouring a penchant for unpredictable behaviour – Allen knew better than to take his continued life and livelihood for granted. As such, he had made sure to have a decent excuse when the Earl finally had finally come calling, or rather contacted them by phone.

For whichever reasons – due to the other's acute sense of self-preservation perhaps – Tyki had at the time refused to take the call when they had just walked past a random public phone and it had begun ringing all of a sudden.

Apparently, this was one of the numerous methods with which the Earl kept in touch with people, delivering orders and whatnot, even though it seemed like a surprisingly roundabout method of keeping in touch, considering that the Earl evidently had the ability to utilise telepathy at least within some amount of range and through his akuma if nothing else, and there ought to have been enough of those around to vastly outnumber any number of telephones – both public and private – that had been distributed throughout. Then again, as his knowledge in regards to how the aforementioned link could be utilised was quite limited, Allen was hardly in any position to judge, and in a way, he had found that he actually preferred communicating with the other without meeting face to face and without having the other directly in his head.

Regardless, he found himself on what could possibly be viewed as some sort of probation, seeing that the Earl had yet to send anyone besides his minder to follow him around on a more permanent basis. Obviously, that in itself did not mean that there weren't any spectators; there certainly were, but they respectfully kept their distance, more often than not keeping interaction to a near absolute minimum. The latter was obviously something that Allen himself could very much appreciate, unlike the more obvious tail that was Tyki Mikk, the latter of whom was by no means discreet in what he was doing as far as following him around was concerned, and only somewhat discreet in terms of how and how often he made direct contact with the Earl.

On more than just one occasion – on a quite regular basis even – Allen had entertained the thought of making a run for it; of fully detaching and leaving the line of sight of not only the Earl but also that of all the man's associates. However, thinking that such a thing would be possible at the mere drop of a hat was naïve. It was certainly possible – technically speaking – but doing so without having a decent gauge of the situation was positively suicidal, and since he had chosen to prolong his earthly existence whilst preserving at least some semblance of independence, making any further rash decisions or moves according to such decisions was not very high on his list of priorities.

If not for another matter altogether, then setting the stage for a time when such rash decisions and the implementation of such decisions would come in handy would probably have been if not at the very forefront of his mind then certainly lurking in the back, consuming his idle thoughts. However, such was not the case; he still pondered the matter, admittedly, but there was still something else – something out there – that demanded attention, and if he played his cards right, then…

At the sound of a door opening, he rolled over onto his side. He opened his eyes, even though he hardly needed any additional confirmation to determine the identity of the one who so freely admitted themselves to the room without as much as a warning. Then again, that having been said, he did find himself questioning the reason as to why the other had gone through the trouble of opening the door in the first place, and not rather foregone the trouble by walking right through it, but the thought just didn't seem worthy of the effort, somehow.

"Hey…"

The mattress moved as someone moved to sit on its edge, providing additional weight, and soon – and not all too unexpectedly – there was a hand on the side of his head, ruffling his hair, which was now stained in an utterly vile shade of red.

"How long are you planning on lying here, Allen?"

Truthfully, it was a valid question, but also a rather pointless one. In response, he swatted the offending hand away, turning his head ever so slightly so that he could level the other with a somewhat half-hearted glare with greater ease. "Isn't this more convenient for you lot? Me staying put… not causing unnecessary trouble…"

"Staying put, I somehow believe that you'd end up causing a whole lot more trouble than otherwise," Tyki quite wryly informed him, getting back up. "Since trouble would probably come to find you in case you stayed put for too long…"

He allowed his head to roll back into its original position, shifting his eyes away and directing them towards the wall whilst leaving his general attention right where it was. "Say, Tyki…"

Tyki Mikk – having moved away from the bed and towards the window – paused in his stride and turned partially, seemingly waiting for him to continue.

"What would you do… if you already knew your own future?"

The other made a thoughtful sound, pulling the curtains shut. "Tough question."

He remained where he was, staring at the wall. "Would you strive to change it?"

"Perhaps." Again, Tyki sounded thoughtful. "If I didn't want it."

"And if it's inevitable?"

"Then I wouldn't rush," Tyki said, approaching from the sounds of it. "I'd take my sweet time getting there. Besides…" – The footsteps came to a sudden stop, and at a fairly close range at that, judging from the sounds of it all. – "Weren't you the one who said that we'd all perish, regardless of how we chose to live our lives?"

It did sound a whole lot like something that he would have said, though he could not recall the exact occasion during which he was supposed to have made such an utterance, and all in all, he found that he by no means cared enough to ask.

"So," Tyki went on to claim, looking down at him where he lay. "Where's this future that you can't seem to avoid?" – At his continued lack of response, the other narrowed his eyes at him. – "Don't tell me you just left the Earl's protection without a clear destination in mind?"

A clear destination? As if he'd had that when he had first made his escape; back then, he had truthfully only acted upon the conclusions that he had been able derive from both the information that Bak Chan had been able to provide him with and from the information that his own senses could provide him with, practically implementing his plans whilst in the middle of making them.

Ultimately, him opening up a gate to Germany had more to do with chance than with any deliberate planning, as the aforementioned location was the first one to come to mind for whichever reason. Him separating from Bak thereafter had been more deliberate on his part, mostly because it had seemed the most logical to him. Then again, that in itself did not absolutely mean that it had been without flaws, but as far as he could determine at the present, it had been the correct decision to make, as adding Tyki and the others into the mix would probably not have ended all that well for any of them.

"If you've got a purpose in mind, enlighten me."

_A purpose?_

He sat himself up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "I want to find the truth."

"Hoh?" Tyki – now leaning against the wall – tilted his head slightly to the side. "The truth? Why the sudden hurry? Also, since when do you care about the truth?"

Before all of this had taken place – before everything got needlessly complicated – Allen probably wouldn't have given a damn about the truth or about the world for that matter. The state of the war – the fate of the whole world even – had never bothered him all that much, since he had always lived under the impression that he would perish way before it all ended and thus be unable to enjoy the end result, whether it was one that favoured or disfavoured him. In a way, he had always accepted death, or at least been enough of a realist not to attempt to do something as reckless as to revive the dead; other reckless actions on the other hand had never been beyond him – well, according to others anyway – but death alone was just… the end of it all, or at least that ought to be the natural state of things. It ought to be something absolute and unquestionable, but as had already been at least partially proven, death was not necessarily…

"Allen?"

He got up, making his way over to the window and pulling the curtains aside. "I had a dream."

"We all have dreams… whether we're asleep or awake, Boy," Tyki snorted. "Still," the other went on, curiosity now evident. "Why would they matter?"

Why indeed? Then again, it wasn't the dreams themselves that mattered, it was…

"Come on, throw me a leash."

He blinked. "A what?"

"At least give me a clue or something," Tyki clarified, sounding just a tad irritated. "A hint."

"Or else what?"

Tyki smirked, the familiarity of the conversation by no means foregoing him. "Well…"

"I'm being targeted," Allen offered him simply, turning his back against the window and leaning against it.

"Hoh?" Tyki began, and when he did not avert his eyes, the other blinked, somewhat disbelieving. "Wait… You're serious?"

"I'm playing bait." He returned the other's look with one of his own, retaining a deadpan expression. "This is something that I need to do," he went on to explain. "Interfere if you must, but keep it to an absolute minimum. Besides…" – A wry smile came to adorn his features. – "At this rate, it's only a matter of time before everything goes to Hell… So it's only sensible to get my affairs in order, eh?"

"Affairs?" Again, Tyki arched an eyebrow. "Who's targeting you?"

In this era, it nearly ought to be more appropriate to ask who wasn't doing it. Even so, Allen shrugged his shoulders.

"You don't know?" Tyki's eyebrow climbed even higher. "Seriously?"

To say that he didn't know wasn't entirely accurate, but he still knew too little to possibly identify them lest they themselves appeared before him. Still, that was…

"Allen?"

He snapped back into reality, finding his body shaking with slight tremors and Tyki Mikk openly staring at him in clear disbelief.

"You're trembling?"

Yeah, he realised as much on his own. It was pathetic really, as was the fact that he had to quell a sudden urge to wrap his arms around his trembling form. However, truth to be told, he had other things to concern himself with. He turned and leaned forward, eyes scanning the seemingly empty backstreets visible from the window. "He's coming," he found himself saying with a strange kind of certainty, because he did know – somehow – and with a frightening degree of clarity at that, recognising his own feelings as those of fear – absolute, undeniable fear – whilst he was at it. "Back then… I panicked," he said, lowering his voice to a mere whisper, even thought he knew it made little difference. "He first spoke to me back when I first got to Edo, telling me he was coming for me or something, and then-…"

"In other words," Tyki interrupted him, folding his arms across his chest. "This voice is solely responsible for your strange behaviour and eventual freak-out episode back in Edo?" Barely even giving him enough time to confirm the matter, the other continued with some degree of urgency. "And you mean to say that you didn't share this possibly vital piece of info with anyone until just now?! Honestly, always causing unnecessary trouble for people…"

Allen said nothing – feeling there was little point in vocally interrupting a person when they were as worked up about matters as Tyki seemed – and tore his eyes away from the window, moving to collect his few essential belongings. It didn't take very long, but when he was done and reached down for his shoes, Tyki's ire seemed to have cooled somewhat, allowing the other to consider things from a more rational and more practical point of view.

"Okay…" the other began, pinching the bridge of his nose. "From what I can tell, you seem to be able to sense this guy to some degree, yes? And judging from what I've seen so far, it's not a very pleasant feeling, I take it?"

"When he's close, I feel like I'm going to be sick," Allen responded whilst trying his shoes, oddly calm despite it all.

"And judging from the way that you're beginning to sweat right now, he's getting closer, yes?"

Making no comment, Allen attempted to finish tying his shoelaces, but paused suddenly, bringing his hands up to his head, screwing his eyes tightly shut as an onslaught of pain hit, forcing him to suppress a pained hiss.

"So…" he vaguely heard Tyki go on. "Do we wait… or do we run? It's your call, Boy."

Strangely enough, despite the pain which was at the time reaching its peak, he found himself suppressing a snicker. "No matter how far I run, he'll follow."

Tyki – having stepped up to the window – idly surveyed their surroundings for a moment before turning back to face him. "How close?"

Allen – with his hands still pressed against his head – wasted no time responding, forcing his eyes back open. "Close," he gritted out, his voice thick with pain.

"Okay then…" Tyki said, watching him a bit concernedly whilst seemingly adapting to the situation at hand. "So, do we get a move on… or do we stay here and wait for the inevitable confrontation?"

Without skipping a beat, Allen already had his answer. "No."

"No?" Tyki repeated, sounding almost surprised, as if such a response was something truly unexpected and extraordinary. Then again, Allen supposed it was just as believable that the other was faking their surprise in order to pry some sort of explanation from him.

Then, the pain suddenly peaked before residing somewhat, and he knew better than to waste the opportunity, his mind already at work with opening up another gate for them to cross through. "Even if it's just prolonging the inevitable…" he began, already having picked out their next destination. "I have business to attend before that."

"Hoh?" – The gateway already materialising beneath him, he looked up as Tyki made his way over. – "And just what sort of business would that be?"

"Paying respects," Allen offered him simply, and that was that.

- o0o -


	49. The Forty–Ninth Testament

_The chapter in which a lot of talking takes place._

_Does it clear things up?_

…

_Who knows?_

**- o0o -**

**The Forty**-**Ninth Testament**

**The Grave of Mana**

**- o0o -**

"_Say, Allen…"_

**- o0o -**

"_We're family, right?"_

**- o0o -**

Family? – Such a foreign and highly inconceivable notion.

He knew that well and they too should have known – ought to have known – and even if they did not, his own silence ought to have made it all clear to them, once and for all.

They were not family; he had no family, and neither did he need one, to replace one he had never had in the first place.

Family?

**- o0o -**

"_Allen…"_

**- o0o -**

"_I don't give a damn about what the others think about you and your allegiances…"_

**- o0o -**

"_You're weird as Hell, but you'd never…"_

**- o0o -**

"_And even if it's the truth, screw it!"_

**- o0o -**

"_We'll make our own truth; our own rules."_

**- o0o -**

"_So just… don't."_

**- o0o -**

Familiar brown eyes stared up at him, filled to the brim with tears and despair, before they were once again obscured as a familiar brat buried his face in the crook of his neck.

Hands – so small – clutched his clothes with a rare sort of desperation.

Then again, he supposed that it only made sense, though he wasn't all too sure about just how.

More out of instinct than out of any conscious effort, he brought his hand to rest on the back of Timothy's hair, limply at first and then with more force to it, tucking the brat's head beneath his chin.

The skin on his throat and the side of his neck felt gross; he imagined that it was due to it being dampened by tears – and probably some snot as well, all things considered. Gross.

_Was he always this small, this brat?_

The answer ought to have been obvious, yet it wasn't. It eluded him, strangely enough, just like the truth of things.

**- o0o -**

"_We'll make our own truth; our own rules."_

**- o0o -**

He gritted his teeth.

"_Where are the others?"_ he asked quietly, as he found that he could no longer pick up on even the slightest echo of their presence.

The brat's grip on his clothes tightened noticeably. _"They fell,"_ the latter whispered; his voice thick. _"All of them. They fell. They-…"_

Ah, right…

That's right…

They _fell_.

Normally, that would have been the end; it should have been too late for all of them, himself included. They getting themselves killed as a result of their own foolishness really ought to have been no fault of his, but…

He smiled bitterly, tightening his grip onto the crying child.

"_Thank you…"_

The child temporarily stilled before attempting to lift his head to look up at him, but Allen retained his grip, preventing it. After all, he himself – well, technically him along with Timcanpy and the shadow of the Fourteenth – seeing his current visage was enough; there was really no need for anyone else to view it.

His face was wet. However, whether it was due to sweat, blood or tears was beyond him. Perhaps it was a mixture of all of them; little else would have seemed appropriate, considering the occasion.

"_Allen…?"_

**- o0o -**

"_Say, Allen…"_

Tiredly, he lifted his gaze, acknowledging the spectre where it stood whilst quietly wondering whether or not it was just another hallucination mocking him by appearing before him in such a manner.

"_Don't you have any friends?"_

Friends?

He gritted his teeth.

_"…I'm strong enough, so I don't need friends."_

"_Still…" _The mad clown frowned down at him._ "They stayed with you for a long time, didn't they?"_

He said nothing, averting his eyes and tucking the now oddly quiet brat's head more firmly beneath his chin.

"_Aren't you sad?"__ The clown persisted as Allen refused to play along; refused to be a part of such a travesty. __"Aren't you sad, Allen?"_

Again, he gritted his teeth. "_I'm so sad that I could die, but I can't cry,"__ he finally hissed._ "_Maybe my tears have all dried up; they just won't come."_

"_Then…"_ the spectre began, and he reluctantly directed his attention towards it, acknowledging it. _"Don't let it end."_

He continued watching the other as they stepped towards him where he sat, crouching before him and extending a hand towards him.

"_Tragedies… will attract the Earl…"_

The hand moved to the side of his face, brushing against his cheek.

"_So don't be sad, Allen."_

It was cold and ever familiar; it was the touch of a dead man.

"_Allen…"_

**- o0o -**

"_Allen?"_

He looked back down at the brat – who had apparently taken advantage of him loosening his grip – who stared back up at him in return, eyeing him both worriedly and a tad disbelievingly. However, though some degree of fear still remained in the other's eyes, there was still a steely glimpse of stubbornness in there, shining through the conflicted emotions that lay on their surface.

Truth to be told, it was quite admirable, really.

With a soft snicker, Allen ruffled the other's hair, earning himself a surprised shout and some amount of struggling in response. "For a brat, you did well," he said, tucking the other's head back beneath his chin and tightening his hold.

"For an idiot, you didn't do so badly either," the brat muttered, voice somewhat muffled and gradually getting thicker. "All things considered, you…"

"It's alright," Allen responded, actually meaning it.

"How is it alright?" Timothy whispered against his collar, anger and despair once again evident in his voice. "Everyone's…"

_No._

"No."

The brat stilled suddenly, drawing in a sudden harsh breath. "What?"

"Not yet."

The brat stared up at him, eyes wide.

"Death is absolute and irreversible, but at the moment, they're lost rather than dead."

"Lost?" There was another sharp intake of breath, and the fingers clutching his shirt gradually slackened. "Does that mean that you can-…?"

Allen made use of the opportunity to remove the other's hands, encompassing them in his own. "I made a deal with the Fourteenth," he said. "So that you'll all be able to escape this place…"

Again, tears welled up inside the other's eyes, temporarily obscuring the frustrated anger contained within them. "In exchange for what?"

He didn't respond, letting go and rising to his feet somewhat unsteadily. Determinedly, he made his way over to the piano, where Timcanpy had up until then been projecting a score before ceasing the act as Allen reached the instrument and reached out to pick it up.

"In exchange for what?!" Timothy suddenly snarled, got back to his feet and once again latched onto him, demanding answers. "What did you-…?"

Foregoing picking up the golem, Allen instead embraced the brat where he stood, laying his hand on the back of the other's head. "Thanks," he said, seemingly catching the other somewhat off guard. And, taking advantage of it, he gathered began gathering up what little still remained of his energy. "Thanks… and goodbye."

**- o0o -**

"You know…"

They stood in a graveyard, before a familiar grave marked by a simple cross with crooked and weathered features along with a much faded inscription, with Tyki standing with his arms folded across his chest, eyes alternating between the grave and the other who also stood before it.

"I never really took you for someone really into these kinds of sentimental gestures and all…"

Allen scoffed in response, but crouched down and reached out to touch the grave marker even so, brushing away some fresh snow that had fallen upon it. "I'm not," he said, already withdrawing and straightening back up. "This is an exception."

Tyki continued regarding him in silence before finally averting his eyes. "An exception, huh?"

**- o0o -**

"_Say, Allen…"_

**- o0o -**

"_We're family, right?"_

**- o0o -**

Family? – Such a foreign and highly inconceivable notion.

Then again, all in all, perhaps it was not so inconceivable after all, because there were different ways of viewing what was family and what was not. Family was – after all – not always a matter of blood or inheritance.

Perhaps they were indeed family – some type of family – consisting of a bunch of misfits that did not fit in anywhere else, or that held no wish to do so in the first place. Perhaps they were really family, and perhaps he needed it or perhaps he didn't.

In either case, it was all in the past; like the time that he had spent with Mana.

As with all things good and ill, they all came to an end eventually, and once they did, then it was high time to shrug and to move on. After all, little good ever came of staying around longer than necessary – of remaining attached to things already lost – and all in all, it was a preferable solution, seeing that they would all probably end up living just a tiny bit longer than they would have otherwise.

Then again, the latter had yet to be proved, and largely depended on the circumstances.

Once, he had sought to live without any greater number of lasting attachments; surviving but hardly thriving. It hadn't really bothered him; companionship had generally meant very little to him in the face of other concerns, such as finding and retaining things such as sustenance, protection and shelter.

Even so – bound by the basic needs of all humans – he had still technically possessed freedom.

However – lacking a purpose – there had been little use for such a thing, and he had thrown it aside and allowed himself to be swept along with the current.

After all, acting out a part had ultimately given him a purpose – however temporary – to keep on going. However…

"So…" Tyki said as they were making their way away from the graveyard. "How did the two of you meet?"

Allen shot the other a sideways look before once again directing his eyes forward, his senses continuously mapping their surroundings, looking for irregularities. "His dog was killed," he finally offered, his voice deadpan. "I watched him bury it."

He didn't have to look to know that the other was looking at him strangely. "In other words…" Tyki began, seemingly in the process of trying to wrap his mind around it. "You met him while attending his dog's funeral?"

"I liked that dog," Allen offered him simply, accompanying his statement with a mild shrug.

"But not the man himself?" Tyki enquired; a hint of amusement to his voice.

"He was okay," Allen finally admitted after a bit of thought, keeping his eyes ahead. "A bit mad though."

"Mad?" Tyki echoed, with all due likelihood arching an eyebrow.

Mad, yes. Then again, Allen supposed that he himself was hardly in any position to be passing judgement, seeing that he was – with all due likelihood – either just as mad or well on his way already. Then again, he supposed that little else ought to come out of associating with people that weren't all too mentally stable to begin with in general; it ought to be at least slightly contagious, particularly since he himself hadn't been all that well-balanced to begin with. "Mad," Allen assured his companion, retaining his seeming indifference.

Tyki gave rise to a thoughtful hum. "Care to elaborate?"

"Not really."

Apparently, the latter's statement had been less of a request for further information and more of a demand, as Allen was swiftly made aware of as the other grabbed hold of the scarf wound around his neck, preventing him from advancing any further.

Despite disliking the sudden proximity, Allen obliged, pausing in his step. However, he retained his silence, turning his head to stare the other down until the grip on his scarf was finally relinquished and Tyki withdrew his hands, holding them up for him to see in some type of gesture to show that the latter wasn't about to try anything, possibly.

"He was broken," Allen finally said, retaining eye contact. "A child trapped in a grown man's body… looking for his lost brother…"

"Lost brother?" Tyki repeated, tilting his head slightly to the side.

Allen made use of the other's lapse in attention to start walking again. "The Fourteenth."

Judging from the way the other nearly stumbled, his statement had come as something of a surprise, indicating that the other had not been made privy to the aforementioned information. Then again, all in all, Allen somehow doubted that most members of the Noah family had been made privy to it, which had probably been a sensible decision on the Earl's part, seeing that neither Allen nor his predecessor was in their good graces at the moment. Then again, all things considered, Allen somehow doubted that his predecessor had ever been particularly well liked.

"We should head somewhere else," Tyki said as he caught up, surveying the area with a somewhat strange look on his face.

"We should," Allen readily agreed, recognising that the matter was hardly one that ought to be discussed out on the street. After all, even though the aforementioned street was fairly empty and most of the other pedestrians were out of earshot, there was always a chance – a slight risk – that either side had eyes and ears that would just happen to see something that they really shouldn't have seen or hear something that they really shouldn't have heard.

**- o0o -**

Hours later, they had found themselves a room at an inn, the latter of which was with all due likelihood operated by the Earl's human servants – corroborators, whatever one decided to call them – seeing to the fact that the folks working there had become so utterly subservient once they had taken a good look at the two of them, no doubt having received some type of descriptions beforehand.

"So…" Tyki began expectantly, taking a seat.

Allen returned the look from where he lay on his side on the bed that he had claimed for himself, pointedly. "No."

Tyki arched an eyebrow in response. "Hoh?"

Allen snorted. "If you wish for me to talk, then I suggest you do the same."

"About what?" Tyki asked, despite knowing well that Allen could only be referring to one thing.

"The Earl; his plans," Allen commented, not even bothering to get up. "You keep reporting to him, so it'd obviously make sense for you to be at least somewhat up to date."

Tyki shifted slightly, though he hardly seemed bothered by Allen's obvious – and quite well-founded – accusation. "What makes you think that the Duke's telling me anything? I'll have you know that neither of us is particularly in his good graces at the moment; not that _I_ ever was for that matter."

Admittedly, the other had a point. However, Allen still knew better than to dismiss the matter merely because of that, seeing that it was highly unlikely that the Earl would keep Tyki – who was minding the man's supposedly precious _asset_ – completely in the dark, and especially so in times like these. "In terms of greater developments, yes." He sat himself up, running a hand through his hair. "You've been acting a bit off for days now."

"Hoh?" Amber-coloured eyes regarded him with interest; keenly. "And this automatically translates to that I'm keeping information from you?"

Allen gave him another pointed look before averting his eyes, offering up no other response. Besides, even if the other didn't respond, then it was all the same. After all, the only difference it made was that Allen would have no reason to feel even remotely obliged to share his own knowledge and thoughts.

"The Second Exorcist Programme."

He directed his attention back towards the other. "Which means?"

He received a mild shrug in return. "Something about artificial apostles and whatnot… some type of secret project in the Order," Tyki commented a bit offhandedly, waving his hand a bit to emphasise whatever point that he was attempting to make. "I don't really know all that much, but the Earl seems to have gained an interest in it as of late."

"Gained an interest?"

At this, Tyki actually gain a look of mild discomfort, scratching the back of his head. "Let's just say that we've received a bit of interesting info as of late… regarding the fate of the Egg."

Allen's eyebrow climbed even higher. "The Egg?" he repeated, recalling that the Egg referred to the akuma plant that had previously been housed in the Ark, but that had somehow been compromised during whole Edo incident.

"Yep," Tyki began, once again looking like he would much rather not discuss this matter if he could avoid it. "As far as we know, Cross Marian was the one responsible. However, the Earl has already concluded that that guy's not responsible for the thing that we're dealing with at the present."

Allen shifted his position slightly, watching the other with a great deal of interest. "How so?"

"Well…" A somewhat amused but fleeting look crossed the other's face. "There's always a possibility… but as far as we know, he's been presumed dead."

Allen found himself blinking at this, stunned for a brief moment. Then, he tilted his head ever so slightly to the side, the brunt of his attention briefly resting on the door. "I take it that you lot weren't involved then," he finally commented, continuing to stare at the door.

Tyki scoffed. "No shit. If any of us would've done it, then we would've taken credit for it."

"In other words," Allen said, calmly regarding the other out of the corner of his eye. "Someone else managed to do what you lot have been trying to do for ages?"

"In other words… yes," Tyki responded, a tad irritated by it. "I mean, how would you feel about having plotted to kill someone only to have it all go to waste?"

How would he feel? – Frustrated no doubt, Allen supposed. Still, whilst Cross' supposed death certainly had come as quite of a shock to him, it still wasn't what Allen had wanted to know more about. "Still… what does this have to do with the Egg?"

Tyki looked up, regarding him in silence for a few moments and then averted his eyes, still a tad worked up from the looks of it. "Cross appeared at the Black Order HQ mere weeks after all the stuff that took place in Edo, no doubt with fragments of the Egg in his possession," he said, giving Allen a short but admittedly pointed look. "Within a week, he'd gone missing, and according to our source, he left his gun and by far enough blood behind for them to label him as deceased."

"In other words…" Allen began, adding another piece to his mental puzzle. "You mean to say that someone stole the fragments that Cross had in his possession, and that this is somehow related to this Exorcist Project or whatever, yes?"

"Yep," Tyki readily admitted with an exasperated sigh. "Which is why we're looking into the matter."

"Looking into the matter?" Allen repeated somewhat wryly. "Is that a polite way of saying that you're preparing to launch an attack so that you'll be able to find out for sure?"

"Dunno." Tyki regarded him wryly in return, tilting his head slightly to the side. "You tell me."

"In other words…" Allen began anew, adding yet another piece to his mental puzzle. "You've been instructed not to give me any specifics in order to make sure that I won't be able to tip off the Order or something to the like?"

"Well, there's that," Tyki readily admitted, not looking ashamed in the least. "Still, I have shared information. Now it's your turn to tell me about the stuff that has you freaking out and running off for seemingly no good reason."

For seemingly no good reason, huh?

Allen resented that.

Rising to his feet, Allen stepped away from the bed and up to the window, taking a good look at what little went on outside before pulling the curtains shut. "I told you, didn't I?" he finally said, his back still facing the other. "That I wanted to find the truth."

Tyki hummed thoughtfully in response, clearly waiting for him to continue, so he did, and without prompting at that.

"Thirty-something years ago, the Fourteenth died, leaving his memories to someone else before passing on…" He moved his head slightly. "In other words, me."

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the frown forming on the other's face. "That's not…"

"Exactly," he said, not bothering to wait for the other to finish.

"Still," Tyki insisted, tilting his head slightly to the side. "You are aware that there is the matter of reincarnation to consider, yes?"

Allen said nothing, but nodded once, seeing that he had already taken the aforementioned possibility into consideration. "But…"

"But?" Tyki repeated, clearly humouring him.

Allen turned around fully now, but remained at the window. "There was another Allen. One who came before me."

Tyki regarded him with open scepticism. "You do realise how that sounds, don't you?"

_Yes. _"There was supposedly an agreement between him and the Fourteenth, but he was apparently prevented from fulfilling it by outer interference…"

Tyki kicked up an eyebrow in response. "Outer interference?"

"It messed everything up." Allen averted his eyes. "Memories, everything… and I am what became of those pieces…" he went on to say, eyes flickering back to rest upon the other. "The one who did it is still out there…"

For a while, Tyki merely continued to regard him in silence. Then, the other finally spoke up. "Again, you do realise how that sounds, right?" he began, stretching a bit. "Anyways, I'll take the bait." He paused momentarily, levelling his eyes upon him once more. "If this guy – he, she, it, whichever it is – already got you once, then why let you go only to hunt you down all over again?"

Exactly. "That's what bothers me," Allen responded, once again finding himself resisting a sudden urge to wrap his arms around himself. "Why set up all of this only to…?" He paused momentarily, looking down at his left arm where it still hung in a rudimentary sling. "I'm not even sure that I even had this back then, so…" He lifted his gaze slightly. "With my memories in this kind of state, I can't really be sure about anything, can I?"

He could feel the weight of the other's eyes as they continued to rest upon him.

"So…" Tyki finally began. "Let me see if I get this straight…"

"Thirty-something years ago, the Fourteenth – for whichever reason – tried to kill the Earl and got killed as a result… but not before transferring his memories to someone else, who was supposedly Allen, who was supposedly you, making you…" The other paused but continued to regard him, his expression a strange mixture of puzzlement and thoughtfulness intermingling with remaining scepticism. "Actually, what exactly does that make you anyway?"

With a sigh, Allen shifted his weight from one foot to the other, remaining where he stood otherwise, leaning slightly against the windowsill. "There are three possibilities."

"One." Allen raised one finger. "I really am the reincarnated Fourteenth, suffering from delusions, courtesy of Memory damage."

"Two." He raised another. "I'm somehow the Allen from thirty-something years ago."

"Three." He raised a third one. "Whereas my mind used to belong to the other Allen, my body does not, meaning that someone went through a whole lot of trouble to transfer my soul and whatnot from one body to another, which would explain the age discrepancy, as well as the missing years."

"Ooor, four," Tyki quipped, pointing somewhat lazily at his left arm where it hung. "That Innocence of yours magically de-aged you?"

Point.

"Okay," Tyki went on to say, looking like he was about to get a headache from thinking too hard. "So let's pretend for a sec that you really were around thirty-five years ago, and that you – in one way or the other – came into contact with Innocence, or activated one that you'd been born with… Couldn't that in itself have screwed things up? I mean, there's the Innocence of that former companion of yours, the one which can temporarily reverse time…"

Unable to fold his arms across his chest, Allen settled for sticking his right one into the sling as well. "It's a valid point…"

"But you still think someone interfered?" Tyki commented.

Allen remained where he was, regarding the other seriously. "If not, then the timing is too perfect."

"Timing?"

For a while, he said nothing. "Before I came to the circus," he finally began, grabbing hold of the curtain, moving it aside slightly to peek at the world that lay beyond it. "My memories are either clouded or not there at all."

"When I met Mana, I should've been seven, eight, nine, ten or thereabouts," he finally said, letting go of the curtain. "Besides, what are the odds of the person harbouring the Memories of the Fourteenth randomly encountering said guy's brother?"

Tyki tapped his cheek, looking thoughtful. "Maybe you sought him out, unconsciously?"

"No." Allen left his position at the window. "He turned up at the circus, with a clowning act and a dog named Allen in a tow. I didn't know him, and he sure as Hell didn't know me."

"And?" Tyki asked, prompting him to continue.

"For better or worse, I tagged along." Allen shrugged mildly, taking a seat onto the side of the bed. "But, he wasn't quite right in the head, and at one point, he called me 'Allen'… and so I decided that I might as well be Allen."

"Then," Tyki said, watching him keenly; humouring him. "Before you were Allen, were you…?"

"Red," Allen yielded, running a test of hair in-between his fingers. "Like my hair."

Tyki hummed thoughtfully in response. "So that's where 'Red' came from; I've been wondering about that. Still," he went on, eyeing Allen keenly. "You said that the other you – the one before Red – was also named Allen, didn't you?"

Again, Allen shrugged mildly in response. "I can only guess. And, if I had to guess, then I'd say Allen the Dog was named after Allen the Human. And Mana was already broken, so…"

"So you reasoned that you might as well play along with a grown man's delusions, taking on a name without knowing that it used to belong to you…" Tyki swiftly concluded. "Still, though the timing seems just a tad too convenient, it's still possible that it's a coincidence, so what exactly made you think that there was foul play?"

"That thing with Mana was one thing, the thing with Cross was another," Allen responded, levelling his eyes upon the other once more. "I told you, didn't I, about him telling me to become an exorcist?"

A wry smile spread across the other's face. "You mean, before you stabbed him and claimed self-defence?"

"If I hadn't done that, then I would've been taken," Allen commented a bit offhandedly, not really seeing the humour of it. "And ended up as an exorcist under the influence of Cross Marian…"

"An exorcist, carrying the Memories of the Fourteenth…" Realisation appeared to have dawned upon the other. "You're right," Tyki finally concluded. "The timing is too damn convenient."

For a while, silence reigned. Then, Tyki finally spoke up again. "So…" he began, eyes not leaving him. "You decided to break away from the Earl, hoping that the one behind all of this would turn up, right?"

The _"And then what?"_-part of the other's statement remained unspoken, but was heavily implied.

**- o0o -**


	50. The Fiftieth Testament

_Long time no see. For the record though, I have not been idle. If anything, it's my lack of proof-reading skills that have probably ended up stalling me the most (well, that and my ever increasing anxiety over my still largely unfinished coursework assignments). Cheers!_

**- o0o -**

**The Fiftieth Testament**

– **The Overture ****–**

**Beneath the Full Moon, An Assembly of Wolves**

**- o0o -**

"_Say, Allen…"_

**- o0o -**

"_We're family, right?"_

**- o0o -**

He resisted a sudden urge to shake his head – to dispel the resurfacing memory – before he was somewhat abruptly torn from his thoughts by a voice addressing him; startling him almost.

"Enjoying the party?"

He shifted his attention to Road where she stood by his side on the large balcony overlooking an even larger ballroom, featuring a quite fancy staircase along with a vast number of people who undoubtedly belonged to the uppermost of the upper classes if their style of dress and general demeanour served as any sort of indication. Then again, they – more specifically Allen and Road – were also very much dressed for the occasion, even though Road herself seemed to be able to conduct herself in an appropriate manner with a great deal of ease. Then again, it wasn't exactly as though Allen struggled to do so either, seeing that he really had no desire to do adapt anymore than absolutely necessary. Admittedly, neither did he have that much of a desire to stand out very much either, which was why he had – after having been persuaded into turning up and into wearing the fanciful clothing that had been prepared for him – kept a decidedly low profile, not leaving the upper balcony to which he had first been guided, even if spending an extended amount of time on the aforementioned balcony did equal sharing the company of not only Road Camelot but also that of the Earl and that of Sheryl Camelot, the latter of whom obviously disapproved of him being there in the first place.

Then again, it wasn't as though Allen himself very much liked to be there either now, was it?

Apparently, Tyki – who was now navigating the dance floor down below with much fluidity and a great deal of ease, exchanging pleasantries with people down below – had reported at least some part of the theories and information that Allen had possessed the poor judgement of sharing with him to the Earl, who had evidently responded with reeling them back in through issuing an invite which was less of an invite and more of an order unintended to allow room for disobedience.

Truth to be told, Allen himself would have been perfectly satisfied to disobey. However, since he found that he didn't quite fancy the thought of being locked back up in some gilded cage again, he didn't offer up a whole lot of resistance seeing that he knew it would have done him little good.

The Earl had – after all – already made up his mind. And, if Allen showing his face and moderate compliance did mean that his seeming fate of being physically confined again could somehow be avoided, then all the better.

To be completely truthful, Allen found that he had rather sickened of the relative tediousness that had come to inhabit his more regular surroundings. However, that by no means meant that he found himself more at ease in the most recent setting or with the new challenges that it no doubt presented to him. Then again, he sincerely doubted that he would come to inhabit it for very long; if so, then he might even have to remove himself from it, seeing that it was him both ill-suited and quite repulsive as well, all things considered. It was after all but one side of society, and he had – both in the past and more recently – been acutely aware of the other side of it – the not necessarily uglier, but certainly poorer side of it. He had – after all – been a part of it, hadn't he?

"This really isn't my idea of fun," Allen finally admitted, tilting his head slightly to cast a sideways look at the people accompanying him on the balcony before once again surveying the dance floor down below. "But there are worse places to be," he added, admitting it both to them and to himself.

Admittedly, there were also better places to be; maybe not for him, but with all due likelihood for others. Truth to be told, Allen briefly found himself wondering if there was actually a place where he would rather be before concluding that indeed, there was such a place – several of them, as a matter of fact. Truth to be told, he would rather be back at the graveyard out in the cold and preferably also on his own. Then again, if the recent tendencies of others served as any sort of indication, the latter alternative was currently not a viable one in the eyes of others.

"I imagine that there are," the Earl noted with a minor degree of amusement, stirring his tea but pausing in the action as Allen turned partially to level him with another look. "Though I struggle to imagine what you could possibly be thinking of, child…"

Allen retained eye contact for a few more seconds before turning his back towards the man anew.

Obviously, there were far worse places to be. After all, there were still…

His grip on the railing tightened as he forced the vivid impressions – were they truly mere dreams or fragments of memories? – back down along with the visible shudder that would no doubt have accompanied them, had he not moved to suppress it where he had.

"Not a child," he finally corrected, dully, overlooking the things taking place down below.

"We're all the Earl's children, Allen," Road said quietly, a hand on his sleeve. "Regardless of age."

"Right, daddy?" She shifted her posture slightly, grinning at Sheryl Camelot where he sat, conflicted expression giving way to a partially genuine and partially forced smile and a voiced affirmative.

Allen tore his eyes from the spectacle. However, feeling the burning of eyes bearing down upon him, he directed his own gaze back towards the Earl. The latter was indeed watching him intently, even whilst lifting the teacup to sip from it.

Family; it was such a foreign concept to him. At one point which did not lie all that far back, he had considered it a highly inconceivable notion, because obviously, family was not…

Beside him, Road startled slightly, and her hand immediately flew to the side of her head, her eyes widening slightly just as her adoptive father's eyes narrowed and the latter turned his head to look at the Earl.

Allen watched the silent exchange out of the corner of his eye, knowing well that they were having a conversation from which he was excluded. It proved very brief though, as an obviously displeased Sheryl Camelot soon rose from his seat, sending a withering glare off in Allen's general direction before stalking off.

Having given Allen a slight pat on the arm and a smile that looked both very genuine and a tad strained, Road bounced off after her adoptive father before latching onto his side, turning only briefly to wave as they headed for one of the grand staircases, leaving Allen very alone in the company of one that he had not been left alone with since the time prior to the events in Edo and the relative period of chaos that had followed them.

"So…" He turned around fully, leaning back slightly against the railing, slouching. "The verdict?"

The Earl removed the rim of the teacup from his lips, placing the cup back onto the saucer with effortless elegance even whilst keeping his eyes very firmly fixed upon Allen himself. It was an action which did prove to be somewhat unnerving, but still much less unnerving than was to be expected. "If your… _hypothesis _proves correct, then the need to rethink matters might arise…"

"The evident tampering, you mean."

"Have a seat, Allen." The Earl made a vague gesture towards the chair that Sheryl had recently vacated. "Humour me."

All things considered, he would rather have remained standing. Then again, standing largely meant remaining at the railing and its quite spectacular view aside, it was a very exposed position to be in if he really thought of it. Then again, so was remaining in close proximity of the Earl, wasn't it?

Then again, it was a matter of definition when it all came down to it, wasn't? "How?"

"Speak, child," the Earl urged, once again stirring the liquid contained in the teacup. "Your stubborn silence troubles me greatly."

Without comment, Allen claimed the chair that had only just been made vacant. Having done that, he reached into the recesses of his unnecessarily fanciful clothing, pulling out a tattered volume of Macbeth and pulling one of his knees up to support the book against it. Admittedly, it was hardly any way for a gentleman to sit. Then again, he was neither a gentleman nor of particularly gentle birth now, was he?

"One day, at the circus, there was a clown," he began in a perfectly neutral voice, continuing on even as there was the sound of china clinking rather suddenly. "A mad clown with a dog named Allen in a tow…"

In spite of the rather sudden clink of china, Allen did not look up from the book in his hands. Instead, he merely opted to turn the page, though it was mostly for show and to keep his hands busy. Suddenly, he found that he missed his old playing cards, having lost them somewhere along the way; though he found that he could not quite recall just when or how such a thing had occurred, which was mildly annoying actually. Then again…

"I hate clowns." He flipped through an unknown number of pages, not really paying all that much attention to what was going on within the book itself, seeing to the fact that he knew the story pretty well by then, though by no means by heart. "Crowds too, but clowns in particular."

"I didn't like the circus, but I didn't hate it either." He slammed the book shut and rose from his seat, laying the book down there instead as he walked up to the edge of the balcony, leaning against the railing slightly as he overlooked the spectacle still taking place below. "Like me, it drifted… and I drifted too, along with it."

"Then," he went on to say, keeping his back turned. "There was a clown – a mean one – and then, there was a mad clown – a kind one, with a dog."

"The first taught me how to hate."

Cosimo.

"The second…" He closed his eyes. "The second taught me that nothing lasts; that people die… and that eventually, so would I, in one way or the other."

"Innocence reacts to and feeds upon heightened emotions."

"It was my hatred for the first clown that awoke it."

"I came to resent the world and the people in it…"

"When the other clown came – the mad one – I…"

He hesitated, pausing. Then, he tore his eyes from the spectacle below and moved on to study the elaborate architecture, high ceilings and all. "I felt something, I suppose. Sickening, but…"

"He was already broken."

"I got attached."

"He died."

"And then…" He finally turned, levelling his eyes on the other. "You came along."

For a moment, the Earl remained silent; contemplative. "What now then, Allen?" he then enquired, mildly but as ever with a hidden edge to it.

What now, indeed? Much depended on Allen's decision; many lives hung in the balance, including his own. "You're about to launch a strike against the Order, aren't you?" he finally began. "Regarding the Second Exorcist Programme."

"Should I take it that you wish to partake in this operation then?" the Earl eventually asked, continuing to eye him intently.

Allen did not respond immediately. "What if I do?" he finally asked.

"And if I were to request that you eliminate one of those former companions of yours?"

Allen did not move; outwardly, he remained the same but inwardly, his heart skipped a beat, seemingly intent on betraying him once more. Then, he lifted his gaze, staring at the other, unwavering. "My Innocence probably wouldn't allow me to go through with it."

"Ah, yes… that." A look of disdain crossed the other's features, lingering. "Should it come to trouble you further, then the matter can swiftly be dealt with. However…"

The other's eyes wandered off to rest upon the arm in question where it hung in a sling. "You may view it as something akin to insurance."

"For my protection," Allen commented, because it wasn't really a question.

"For now, yes," the Earl affirmed, though he did not appear to be quite happy with the arrangements. "Though I must admit that I was surprised by how it behaved back in Edo, I take it that you haven't been able to invoke it since?"

Allen shrugged mildly in response. "It's not like I've actually tried," he finally said, making a slight gesture with his other hand towards it. "I just know that it won't work… because our interests no longer coincide."

This time around, the Earl did look mildly intrigued but said nothing, seemingly aware that there were still words to be exchanged between them.

"Say…"

The Earl continued watching him, waiting for him to continue.

"You've got someone in the Order right now, right?"

The Earl inclined his head ever so slightly, interlacing his gloved fingers. "Perhaps."

"Any news on Cross Marian?"

The quiet scrutiny continued, though the other's eyes narrowed slightly; dangerously.

"What?" Allen finally snapped, seeing that the other had wordlessly demanded some type of explanation for this enquiry of his. "An elusive bastard you've sought to eliminate since forever returns to the Order and turns up assassinated by someone who didn't act on your behalf. It makes you wonder, doesn't it, what more a man who already knew too much could possibly have learned in order to sign his own death warrant?"

This time around, the Earl actually chuckled. "Quite a lot, I'd reckon."

"Regardless of motive," Allen retorted. "There's someone – some_thing_ – moving about in the Order."

No longer chuckling, the Earl considered him seriously for a moment before responding. "Yes."

"And there is someone – some_thing_ – that's tailing me."

The considering look sharpened slightly. "Since Edo," the Earl calmly noted, eyes once again flickering towards his left arm. "Since your Innocence began acting up."

Allen said nothing, leaning slightly against the railing.

"Still…" the Earl finally began, continuing to watch him intently. "You're not feeling it now, are you?"

"No," Allen offered simply as he left his spot at the railing and made his way back to the chair, picking up the book that he had discarded over there and reclaiming his seat as he finished his statement. "He – it, whatever – is out of range."

For a while, the Earl said nothing, continuing to scrutinise him no doubt as he continued reading right where he had left off. "If it changes, you are obliged to inform me," the man finally said as an attendant – more likely an akuma than not – appeared to refill his cup before disappearing just as quickly. "You're also forbidden from taking independent action against them."

Allen finally tore his eyes from the book, shifting slightly to give the man a look. "So it is alright to pursue as long as I bring along a friend?"

"You are not to pursue," the Earl clarified, voice sharpening. "If you wish to come along, then you must remain with me; _at my side_."

"Should you run off again…" the Earl went on to say, responding to his unasked question. "Be it in pursuit of truth or vengeance… then I shall not be lenient. Is that clear?"

Allen slammed his book shut. "Crystal."

**- o0o -**

"_Say, Allen…"_

**- o0o -**

"_We're family, right?"_

**- o0o -**

For as long as Allen himself could possibly recall, he had never quite grasped the whole concept of family, or rather not the perks of having certain people to whom one was closely or distantly related by blood and to whom one therefore owed some type of obligations. In the Noah family, said obligations included protecting the Earl, though the man himself hardly seemed in need of much protection from anyone or anything but his own madness in Allen's general opinion.

Then again, with Allen being the way that he was and having acceded to his **– **to say the very least **–** precarious position as the host of the Fourteenth Noah **– **the one who attempted a coup d'état, for reasons entirely his own **– **he was not exactly in any position to question such fundamental principles of the whole family concept. There was after all a fair deal of his supposed kin – most prominently those whose company he had generally been spared – that were perfectly ready to pounce at him, should he exhibit any open signs or mere indications of anything but his loyalty to their cause.

Said cause was obviously serving the Earl, but also included serving the Earl's interests, and the latter did with all due likelihood also extend to eliminating perceived threats to the man's life and authority, into which category Allen himself was no doubt included. Then again, with his own track record and his possession of an Innocence that the Earl still – for reasons largely unbeknownst to them – persisted in keeping intact, Allen would by no means have awarded himself with any greater degree of trust had he been in their position. Then again, putting his faith into anything beyond the notion that he would end up getting screwed over eventually no matter which choices he ultimately made would prove problematic to say the very least, because even if one side or the other did uphold their end of the bargain, there was always a third side – of an inner or an outer nature – ready to interfere, should it be deemed necessary.

Then and there, in London, standing at the Earl's side as the latter greeted the latest addition to the family, Allen did level the other with a look to determine whether or not this newly awoken Demon Eye Wisely – representing the Wisdom of Noah – would come to actively play a part in plotting his imminent demise or if they would be perfectly satisfied to have others bringing about it. After all, with the possible exceptions of Road and Tyki and partially the Earl, there was really no-…

The newly awakened one – with hair drained of its colour and three additional eyes on his forehead incorporated into his stigmata – snapped their head up; it was a fairly small motion, but very much noticeable to Allen as it signalled a sudden shift in the other's attention, tearing it from their aching head and then projecting it straight onto Allen himself.

In turn, Allen began paying more attention to the Earl's movements all whilst Road – who stood by his other side, having insisted upon holding his hand – moved her head slightly as Wisely stared, first with confused suspicion, then with a momentary flash of something – rage, perhaps – and finally with a smile that looked far more predatory than friendly. Perhaps even a tad gleeful, judging from the way in which Wisely's attention shifted from one of those assembled to the other, no doubt fishing for information. Then, the smile turned anew towards the Earl and then towards Allen by default, widening, all whilst the Earl wished the other a good morning. Momentarily, the other's attention shifted back to the Earl, but it swiftly returned to Allen where he stood, staring right back at him now, unwavering.

"Thirty-five years, huh?" Wisely began, eyes sweeping briefly over those assembled before once again being drawn back towards Allen where he stood. "Plenty of new faces…" he went on, sounding like he was relishing in it all very much as he rose to his feet. "Good morning. Long time no see, my masters."

Above them, the moon hung low; full, neither growing nor waning, yet surrounded by darkness and seemingly ready to be swallowed up all the same as it was at new moon, before it was born anew through reflecting the light of another's brilliance.

**- o0o -**

"_Say, Allen…"_

**- o0o -**

"_We're family, right?"_

**- o0o -**

He spared another glance at the moon, taking it in before dismissing it, levelling his eyes upon those far needier of it as the Earl turned to face him.

"Are you ready, Allen?"

He slipped his hand from Road's grip, and she in turn moved to stand at the Earl's other side. Then, he extended his hand – his human one – towards him.

**- o0o -**

"_Say, Allen…"_

**- o0o -**

"_Don't you have any friends?"_

**- o0o -**

One heartbeat.

**- o0o -**

"_Still… They stayed with you for a long time, didn't they?"_

**- o0o -**

Another.

**- o0o -**

"_Aren't you sad?"_

**- o0o -**

_"Aren't you sad, Allen?"_

**- o0o -**

He held out his hand for the other to grasp. "Let's move forward," he said. _Together_, he tagged on inwardly as he perceived the bitter aftertaste that the previously used – borrowed; stolen – words had left on his tongue.

**- o0o -**

"_Say, Allen…"_

**- o0o -**

"_What happens now?"_

**- o0o -**


	51. The Fifty–First Testament

_As promised, the continuation. Cheers!_

**- o0o -**

**The Fifty-First Testament**

**The Disciples of Adam**

**- o0o -**

They arrived suddenly, and in silence at that, to the outskirts of the location to which Road – in the guise of a small ragdoll – had led them.

As far as the shape was concerned, Allen had opted not to pry into the matter, seeing that he had other things to focus upon; planning his next move or something to the like, all whilst relishing the fact that he was no longer sharing the immediate company of Wisely. However, the latter would no doubt be turning up far too soon, along with other members of the family that did not have anywhere else to be once they had accomplished their respective assignments.

Before that though – before it all came down – there was still time and it was time that he was meant to do as had been agreed upon. Thus, with Road's doll seated upon his shoulder, he stood a step or two behind the Earl as the latter worked his way into the barrier surrounding the area which housed what Road had referred to as the "Alma Karma" – whatever that was – whilst the Earl had commented something to the nature that they – presumably the Order – had to be excited to have visitors, considering the welcoming committee of golems fluttering about like a colony of mechanical bats.

Allen himself on the other hand rather supposed that the people of the Order were agitated – or for that matter frantic – as they were faced with a party that was largely unknown to them, seeing to the fact that the Earl had yet to don his inhuman disguise, that Road was a ragdoll and that Allen was wearing a hood. Then again, with the golems fluttering about from most angles and no doubt relaying their recorded info to those housed in the black pyramid-shaped building that lay a bit further off – halfway hidden in a canyon, surrounded by large pillars – it was only a question of time before they would be re-categorised from an unknown threat to a known and indeed terrible one. After all, once the Earl turned up, good things rarely followed.

Then again, what was good and what was not was largely a matter of perspective. As far as the Order was concerned though, the Earl's presence would not be one of comfort; neither would Allen's own, or at least so he supposed, because in their minds he doubted that his potential for becoming an ally had ever exceeded that of him being a threat to them.

Then again, since he was there now, at least bodily siding with the Earl, one could hardly fault them for having drawn such conclusions; his potential as a do-gooder had always been significantly lesser compared to that of him being if not an outright harmful presence immediately, then definitely in the longer term.

After all, the latter as well as the former had by all means already been proven, and multiple times over at that. After all, he was…

He snapped his head up as something in the air crackled, signalling that there was something afoot. "They're attacking," he uttered softly, though this fact had hardly escaped the notice of his companions.

_That they are_, the Earl calmly imposed, reaching up to adjust his top hat before putting his hand out, gloved fingertips brushing lightly against the back of Allen's shoulders before a whole arm was laid across them, half-guiding and half-dragging him and by default also Road closer until he was by all means pressed up against the man's side, trapped there by the arm that remained firmly wrapped around his shoulders.

Moments later, beams of light assaulted them from above but impacted harmlessly against the Earl's own shields where he stood, not appearing strained in the very least as he instead lifted his cane from the ground and pointed it towards the tower from which the attacks had been launched, acting as much as a conductor as he did a general for the army of Level Fours that had manifested behind them.

As chaos erupted and the Earl's outer shell began to form around them, Allen felt a flutter of something in his chest; rebellion at being practically manhandled, perhaps? It hardly mattered which however, as the defences were swiftly overwhelmed and brought down, at which point the Earl had already loosened his grip on him before completely turning him loose.

Even so, Allen refrained from putting much distance between them, knowing that such an act would probably set the other off.

The Earl – once again having taken on his regular grinning appearance – seemed rather pleased with this, but said very little as they made their way inside by foot, strolling down at a brisk but by no means hurried pace up until one last staircase leading downwards, where the Earl's walk slowed to a more sedate pace and Allen – following with Road once more – followed suit.

Descending the stairs, Allen caught sight of a bunch of researchers lined up neatly against the wall, in the middle of choking themselves from the looks of it – Sheryl's work, no doubt. He spared them a momentary glance, but made no face or comment at their obvious plight. Instead, he picked up his pace ever so slightly so that he was now merely half a step behind the Earl as they reached the end of the corridor where it opened up into a large chamber.

"Ah, good evening!" the Earl greeted them all, acknowledging the members of the Noah family that were present – Sheryl; Wisely – before strolling up towards the hostages neatly lined up against the wall with their arms stretched out from their sides, both terrified and angered from what Allen could spot from a slight bit of distance. "I was in the mood to take a stroll; I hope that we didn't keep you all waiting for too long…"

Having greeted what was presumably the more valuable of the hostages, the Earl then turned anew, eyes no doubt falling upon Allen where he had remained. "Come now, dear child," the Earl scolded. "Need I renew my invite to come stay here at my side? From over there, you won't see a thing."

From the way in which both Sheryl and Wisely turned their heads to leer at him, Allen supposed that they were under the impression that he ought to feel indignation at being addressed in such a matter.

His younger self – Red – would no doubt have bristled, and perhaps even resorted to acts of violence should he perceive there to be such a need. Allen himself on the other hand – though a tad irritated – reached up to pull his hood down, and act which elicited looks of even greater alarm on the faces of the hostages. Then, Allen proceeded to cross the distance between himself and the Earl, but not before pausing briefly to let down the pintsized Road, for the latter to marvel at the still body lying on the floor and being guarded by Wisely.

Kanda Yu, Allen noted absentmindedly as he spared it a momentary glance before once again reclaiming his spot at the Earl's side, not even acknowledging Sheryl who in turn gave him a short look harbouring no warm sentiments besides those of burning resentment and then proceeded to look away and to cross, uncross and then re-cross his legs where he was seated upon something that looked remarkably much like a casket; one that Sheryl himself would probably take a great deal of joy in filling with Allen's mutilated remains, should such an opportunity present itself.

Judging from the way in which Wisely momentarily broke off his conversation with Road to snort with seeming amusement, the former had no doubt caught onto at least a fraction of the thoughts passing through Allen's head.

"That's right," the mind reader uttered out loud, confirming his suspicions.

Though sincerely tempted to ignore the other's obvious breach of privacy, Allen did turn around partially, eyes flickering to rest briefly upon the still body on the floor once more before finally levelling upon Wisely who looked rather pleased with himself. "Is that so?" Allen finally drawled, turning around fully. "I'd personally say that you went a bit overboard on this one, crushing his skull and all."

Momentarily, Wisely looked stumped. However, knowing well to what he was referring, the other swiftly caught onto the new direction and played along, a hint of curiosity flickering in their eyes before disappearing into amber depths as the other shrugged their shoulders slightly. "Nah, he looked too troublesome to deal with… 'sides, he's a Second; they're not that easy to kill."

Whatever this Second thing truly entailed, it did cause a startle amongst those still paralysed and lined up neatly against the wall.

"That's right, master," a smiling Wisely intoned anew and with a gesture added for the sake of drama, addressing one of the hostages this time around before seemingly addressing the lot of them. "You lot ought to know what happens when one meddles with that which ought not to be meddled with… and the result of said meddling… what the Black Order detests the most."

Allen shot a brief glance in direction of the hostages before following their horrified gazes to Kanda Yu where he lay, and only then really took note of the disfigured face that appeared to be floating there beneath, in the tank on top of which they were apparently standing.

"You will be killed by a monster of your own creation," Wisely went on to claim. "Alma is sealed, but… how's this one then?"

Before him, Kanda Yu stirred and heaved himself partially off of the glass; just enough to stare down at the face beneath them, likely a bit disoriented but with a rapidly growing amount of clarity as whatever damage Wisely had dealt him had seemingly healed.

For whichever reason, the Earl appeared thoroughly pleased with such a turn of events. Pleased? No, that was a bit of an understatement; ecstatic even. However, before the madman had managed to make even more of a fool of himself, a gleeful Sheryl intervened, telling the man to wait. "Aren't we still waiting for a guest?" he then persisted. "After all, we-…"

A gate to the Ark appeared as he spoke, admitting an unknown male to the scene wearing a smile and a white branch leader coat and carrying a struggling child on his arm.

One of the still paralysed hostages apparently managed to partially break the imposed paralysis, seeing that they managed to voice their disbelief out loud rather than merely inwardly. "Branch Leader Nansen?! What are you-…?!"

The struggling child – none other than Timothy Hearst – was promptly deposited in front of the Earl, whilst the still smiling countenance of Andrew Nansen turned to face the hostages – some of whom were fellow branch leaders, other of whom were not.

"My, my," he finally said, aloof as he shifted his focus towards an utterly displeased-looking guy who looked ready to kill. "Inspector Lvellie, even in this kind of situation, you are really as intense as ever…"

This Lvellie guy looked – if possible – even more displeased then.

Timothy on the other hand seemed a tad disoriented, though he appeared far more incensed than scared as the Earl stared down at him with a mixture of obvious distaste and seeming curiosity. Then, with frightening speed and accuracy, the brat shifted his attention straight towards Allen where he stood, torn between so many things happening at once, all of them seemingly worth his attention.

Kanda Yu – still not quite over having had his head bashed in – still appeared to be staring down in disbelief at the face beneath them.

Lulubell shed her disguise and odd mannerisms, bowing her head before the Earl who praised her for a mission well accomplished.

Timothy Hearst stared up at his greatest foe in open defiance.

Sheryl smirked.

The Earl grinned.

Allen took a step forward.

**- o0o -**


	52. The Fifty–Second Testament

_Chapter 52: the chapter that I have been staring at since January without being able to bring myself to proofread and publish it. So yeah, it's been half a year and it's not getting any better, so let's just get it over with so that we can move onto other matters. Cheers._

**- o0o -**

**The Fifty-Second Testament**

– **Pianissimo –**

**The Revisited Resolve**

**- o0o -**

One step, and then another…

Lines blurring; colours blending…

Images emerging; voices echoing…

**- o0o -**

"_Say, Allen…"_

**- o0o -**

Persistent, endless reminders…

**- o0o -**

"_Say…"_

**- o0o -**

"_We're family, right?"_

**- o0o -**

In his dream; in his inner mindscape, that damned clown – the madman; the foster-father; the lost one – turned where he stood, turning to face a much younger figure who stared right back at him, stubbornly.

Then, the clown made a thoughtful sound, indicating that whatever had just been said had not been heard.

In frustration, silver-grey eyes were averted, and the child pushed past the madman where they walked, the frozen snow crunching beneath the soles of their worn-out shoes. He did not get very far however, before slipping upon a hidden spot of ice and failing to regain his balance in time to avoid an unpleasant collision with the cobblestones beneath.

There might have been a shout of seeming concern and there might not have been. In either case, he had experienced far too great a feeling of indignation intermingling with the pain of a sprained wrist to pay much heed to it.

Tears did threaten to spill from his eyes but he resolutely forced them back and wiped his face with his sleeve for good measure as he sat himself up, facing away from the madman hovering about.

Despite the pain ailing one and the decided awkwardness in controlling the other, Allen brought his hands upwards and pressed them against his ears, willing to drown out the sound of the madman's voice before the words penetrated his eardrums and forced their way into his consciousness, engraving themselves upon his memory.

Ultimately, it proved feeble however, as one name – repeated over and over and over – made it past his deliberate efforts to drown them out. It was his own, yet at the same time it was not; it was…

Hands came into contact with his sprained wrist and he cried out, struggling as arms moved to hold him; to restrain him.

Despite his own efforts, he ended up being manhandled, turned and pressed tightly against the other's front and held there with one arm encircling his back and a hand smoothening the dishevelled and dirty mop of red hair that he could call his own.

"Of course we're family; I thought that you'd already-…"

"_Stop it,"_ he snapped, colour draining from his hair and more recent scars engraving themselves upon his skin as he tore himself loose, backing away. "I'm just your dead brother's host; his replacement. Hell, I'm a replacement for a dog that you used to own; same name and everything."

"_Allen,"_ the madman intoned, patiently. "You are not a replacement."

"What am I then, if not a bloody replacement?!" he snarled, backing away further in order to avoid the hands reaching for him. "I'm not your brother; I'm not your dog; I'm not even the real Allen anymore."

"Allen is Allen," the madman insisted; persisted. "Even if Allen changes, Allen remains as himself. You are still – all of you – Allen."

"I am no one," he responded coolly, from a bit of a distance. "No one but a false image; a fragment and a façade meant to protect the Fourteenth until the time of his awakening."

"You are Allen," the madman reaffirmed, taking a step towards him. "The one that my brother entrusted with his all; with everything; with hope…"

"A tool at his disposal," Allen retorted as the other advanced yet another step. "A fool blinded by faith, willing to give himself up in order to be of use…"

The eyes gazing at him looked saddened, but he refused to back down, even as the other closed the distance between them and sunk down onto one knee, putting their hands onto his shoulders and meeting his eyes. "Say, Allen…"

**- o0o -**

"_Don't you have any friends?"_

**- o0o -**

The conversation was decidedly familiar to him, yet different from any that he could recall had ever happened in real life. Then again, with his memories being the way that they were, there were really no guarantees.

Even so, perhaps a tad curious as to what would happen should he divert from the pattern that things usually followed, Allen lowered his gaze, kept quiet and waited for what he – who bore the image of Mana – would do if he – Allen – did nothing; said nothing.

Such travesty; his own subconscious – feeding upon fragments of dreams and memories – almost seemed to be mocking him, truly. He nearly fell to the temptation of mocking it in return, but opted to cut matters short instead, seeing to the fact that there was little reason for one to delay the inevitable.

"They stayed with me for a long time," he said. "Not as long as I stayed with you nor as long as you stayed with Allen… but they were very precious to me."

The madman – no longer a clown – smiled bleakly. "Like family?"

He lifted his gaze anew and smiled half-heartedly. "Like you, they were stubborn; stubborn and persistent. Me shunning them just made them all that more persistent in staying around; to make themselves needed…"

"Interfering…" The hands lifted from his shoulders and the man stepped away, his outline blurring. "Do you regret it?"

"Regret?" he snorted, shifting his posture. "Had I not interfered with them, then little would have changed. They would either have died early on or ended up with the Order and then died. Their association with me merely delayed whatever fates await them, just as my association with them delayed my fate to be swept up by the Earl… If not for them, then the Earl might have interfered sooner, though he also might not have… and without them, I…"

He faltered, hating himself for it; for faltering, for falling victim to a strange sense of sentimentality, despite his own efforts to cut himself loose from the greater part of human sentiments with which he had been bestowed. He who had striven to remain unfeeling; had been taught to hate; had been taught to love. He had grown attached, and he had paid; would pay the price for it.

Mana's kindness had been his undoing; that along with his own inherent curiosity. Seeing an opportunity, he had violated his original convictions; holding little love for his own existence or anything that came with it, he played along.

With the death of Allen the Dog, Mana had lacked a companion. Allen – sick of living a life at the mercy of others – had merely seen a chance to leave; an excuse to leave it all behind.

However, he had delved too deeply into the man's delusions, losing sight of himself.

The death of Mana; watching the coffin being lowered and covered with dirt, had broken the illusion and awoken him to the reality that lay at hand, ailed by a pain largely unfamiliar despite knowing of its pointlessness in the face of death; of inevitability. He had resolved not to feel; to remain unfeeling. But…

"Allen…"

He lifted his gaze despite supposedly knowing better.

"You fell in love with humanity, didn't you?"

He stared, not in defiance but in disbelief.

"_Love?"_ he then scoffed, disbelief discarded once more to make way for renewed defiance.

"Love," he began anew. "Is a powerful force, capable of making people go out of their way… of at least temporarily putting the needs of other's above their own. In the end however, it is all a matter of selfishness."

"However weak or strong that it might seem, it is a double-edged sword that is capable of destroying as much as it is capable of building," he went on to say, calmly. "It divides as much as it unites, and will only cause us misery in the end…"

The other said nothing, seemingly waiting to hear the rest of his resolution.

"Times have change and people change with them…" he said, smiling somewhat wryly at his opponent. "I guess that I too changed along the way… and for the worse at that…"

Again, the madman said nothing; waiting for him to go on.

"My time's almost up…" he went on to explain, wryness draining from his countenance and replaced by a serious calm tinged with a hint of bitterness.

"For certain, this time around," he finished, turning his head to look down the winding alleyway crafted by his mind. "He's getting impatient."

The spectre looked torn; pained by his words. "Allen…"

"It's fine," he deadpanned. "I'm okay."

Again, the shape-shifting sceptre looked pained. "Allen, you're…"

"It's okay," he repeated, more earnestly now. "I'm okay now; I'm fine."

"Allen, you…"

"I'm _fine_," he snapped, glaring. "And I'll be happy soon enough. That's enough, isn't it?"

The other gave him a look; it conveyed a sense of desolation, but he dismissed it along with his brief burst of irritation; dismissed all unnecessary emotion to give way for determination as he resolutely extended his hand towards the other. "This dream…"

"This _farce_…"

"Let's just…"

**- o0o -**

Amber-coloured eyes, split pupils and everything, stared back at him in the mirror, but it might as well have been another altogether standing there; it might as well have been the Fourteenth, had it not been for the other's shadow standing just behind him. Then again, all things considered, he found that it hardly even mattered which anymore.

Through the force of his sheer determination, the Noah transformation had once again come undone, draining his eyes and skin of their unnatural hue and returning them to a reasonable state of normalcy, albeit a strained one.

In the absence of the aforementioned colouring, the time which had passed since certain events along with his current state as a result of it all proved painfully obvious on the canvas that was his countenance and on his body as well.

His somewhat slouched posture told of his physical as well as of his mental weariness, and the clamminess of his skin and the occasional shudder that rocked his body because of it told of his abnormally irregular body temperature, along with the fact that his body was managing very poorly because of it, though truth to be told, there were other reasons as well.

Mere minutes prior, in an act of mutiny, his body had opted to reject what little he had attempted to force into it, and even once there had been nothing more to throw up, the convulsions had continued for quite some time, ceasing only once he had thrown up nothing but gall and blood for a good minute or so.

It had been then, in the aftermath of that, that he had finally lifted his head and gaze long enough to actually take note of his own reflection, or rather of the stranger standing there in his place, staring back at him.

"_Let's put an end to it."_

"_Once and for all."_

Again, he found himself dangerously close to being sick all over again, but this time around, he managed to force it back down. Instead, he steeled himself and reached for the faucet, turning it on.

The water emerging from it was cold. For this, he was thankful, seeing that the cold cleared up his senses a bit as he washed first his face and then his hair, though obviously not very thoroughly with the latter, seeing to the fact that he did it above a sink as opposed to doing it properly.

And, even after he was done, he left the water running and put his hands beneath it, keeping them there until they were both as numb as the other, and withdrawing them only once the sound of a slamming door caught his attention, snapping him back into a renewed state of high alert.

Shortly thereafter, there was a slight knock on the door to the bathroom in which he had spent at least the last hour and a half, and his eyes ‒ grey now ‒ flickered off in direction of the door as there was another knock along with a soft-spoken inquiry.

"_Allen?"_

He straightened, but didn't answer, running his fingers through his dripping hair instead, red as it was, though his roots would soon come to reveal their true colouring.

"_Or is it…?"_

Again, silver-grey eyes flickered towards the mirror, narrowing slightly at the reflection which they found staring back at them. "It's me," he finally yielded, his voice sounding quite raspy due to his throat feeling so damned raw, courtesy of everything. "Is the barrier still intact?"

Receiving an affirmative, his shoulders drooped slightly, and he didn't tense back up again when the door to his temporary sanctuary was pushed open to admit Bak Chan. Despite a definite lack of extravagant Order-related attire, the other looked remarkably healthy for a man who had been presumed dead for the last couple of months.

Originally, Allen had intended to deal with matters all on his own. However, as had already been proven, things this time around proved a tad too difficult to handle whilst he was completely on his own.

Then again, it might be just as fair to say that this had been Bak's decision on his behalf, seeing that the man had curiously enough happened upon him within hours of his second split, and that the man had managed to rein him in despite the state he had been in at that time, switching back and forth and ready to attack just about anyone who stood in the way.

Surprisingly enough, Bak Chan had kept his continued survival under wraps and made little or no contact whatsoever with anyone affiliated with the Order, a fact which Allen found that he could at the very least appreciate once he himself found himself on the run and in a definite need of a place to hide, seeing that using the Ark was at the moment not a viable option. It was bound to gather some very unwanted attention after all.

In either case, Bak had found and reined him in, even though he had been switching back and forth, both between his human and his Noah form and between his own consciousness and the Fourteenth's.

Truth to be told, Allen found that his own recollection of the aforementioned events were murky at best. Then again, with Bak having managed to survive a previous encounter with the Fourteenth with no obvious ill-lasting effects, it was only fair to assume that the pair had reached some type of understanding; whatever such an understanding included. A non-aggression pact for the sake of survival and mutual convenience, perhaps?

Either way, Allen's own arrangement with Bak was hardly permanent; he would move on as soon as his condition stabilised, unless there were any unforeseen events that came to speed up the process.

Knowing his luck, such a thing was hardly unlikely.

"Think you can eat?"

He refrained from shaking his head, figuring that it would probably do him little good. "Doubtful."

"Think you can drink?"

He dipped his head once, stepping out into the small one-room apartment that had become his makeshift sanctuary as Bak stepped off in direction of the kitchenette; to prepare some tea, no doubt.

Allen himself makes his way over to the bed, sitting down and then allowing himself to fall back against the mattress.

Some time must have passed, because when he opened his eyes again, it was to the sound of porcelain clinking nearby. He directed his eyes towards the source of it, which proved to be Bak putting a tray onto the bedside table.

The other then proceeded to retrieve one of the cups from the tray before retreating to an armchair that had been set up close to the room's only window, which was covered entirely by the curtains, leaving the room somewhat dim.

The latter suited Allen very well, seeing that he found himself rather sensitive these days; to light amongst other things.

"Are you alright?"

"I think I'll live," Allen quietly responded, rolling over onto his side and heaving himself up at last. "For now."

Bak shot him a look, but said nothing, sipping the steaming liquid instead.

Throat still feeling raw, Allen saw no need to deviate from the other's set example.

"I saw a few finders milling about," Bak eventually revealed, once again contemplating his cup of tea. "Beyond that, there's no open activity from either side, considering the lack of rumours."

Allen glanced at him over the rim of his teacup, making no comment.

"The Earl might have a few people lurking about," Bak contemplated further. "But none that should be looking for me at the moment."

It was likely a mildly naïve thought, but Allen reasoned that it probably wasn't all too far away from the actual truth, considering everything. He himself was obviously the primary target, and all others were secondary or virtually nonexistent to the one calling the shots.

After all, for all his shrewdness, the Earl had a surprisingly one-track mind as far as the Fourteenth ‒ and by extension Allen himself ‒ was concerned.

As such, Allen knew that it was probably not the Earl that was of the greatest concern for their respective continued livelihood. Rather, it was the rest of the Noah family, most of whom would hardly hesitate to kill either of them, and would probably not do so quickly either if they had any kind of choice in the matter. That is, unless they opted to kill them first, before the Earl could run interference.

Then again, the Earl had promised no leniency, should Allen leave the other's side once more, so perhaps the Earl would prove equally vicious when it all came down to it.

In either case, Allen opted to think of it very little, occupying his mind with other thoughts or nothing at all, biding his time simply whilst waiting for his body to recover and for his mental state to improve.

"How are your wounds?"

Allen shot the other another look, narrowing his eyes slightly as he took another sip of the tea, as it had now cooled enough to be consumed with a greater deal of ease.

In hindsight, it occurred to Allen that it was entirely possible that Bak had put something into his tea, likely painkillers of some sort considering the slight bitterness to the liquid, and seeing that Allen himself didn't feel just about ready to topple over.

"No worse than usual," he finally allowed, after draining what little remained of his tea.

"And mentally?"

Returning his cup to the tray, Allen shot the other a look that was admittedly pointed but by no means completely devoid of amusement. "Paranoid about the taste of the tea."

To Bak's credit, whilst looking positively appalled by the not so subtle accusation, the man did not deny the allegation that there had been something added into the brew that didn't belong there.

"It's an anodyne agent extracted from a certain herb," Bak finally explained, putting his own cup aside. "Things have naturally become quite stressful as of late, and I tend to break out into hives when I'm put under a lot of pressure, so…"

Whilst mentally contemplating how ironic it would be to get killed off by poison of all things, Allen set to work on unbuttoning his dress shirt to lay bare the bandages beneath it, wrapped around his chest and midsection.

It had after all become somewhat of a ritual these last few days, with Bak insisting on checking and rechecking the condition of his wounds at fairly regular intervals, despite the fact that there was hardly any need for such diligence.

However, knowing well what the other was risking for his sake, Allen shrugged his shirt off and once the bandages had been unwound, he lay down on his stomach, allowing for the other to prod at the gashes ‒ some of them deeper than others ‒ that littered his back, paying particular attention to a deep one in his left side.

Initially, he had felt them very clearly; when they were still fresh, that is. Now however, whilst certainly largely unhealed, they seldom made themselves reminded, even when jarred. Rather than hurt, they were numb with the exception of the occasional surge of pain as his Innocence and his Inner Noah clashed with one another, using his very body as their battlefield.

"Does it hurt?"

Allen shifted slightly where he lay. "It's uncomfortable."

For a while, the other continued to prod, studying them. "Well…" Bak finally began. "Good news is that the swelling's definitely down…"

"And the bad news?"

"Your body is rejecting your Innocence, preventing the wounds from healing up as they should."

Allen actually snorted at that, heaving himself back up into a sitting position. "And this qualifies as news, how?"

"This is nothing to joke about," Bak snapped right back at him. "If this goes on, you'll die."

Allen found himself on the verge of bursting out into a fit of laughter, but restrained himself. "I'm a host; a vessel," he offered in return, pulling his shirt back on. "And I am fully aware that I'm losing both my life and my sanity. The only thing that remains uncertain is which one will precede the other, seeing that I've already had a fair share of either."

"Allen, you're not insane."

Allen scoffed openly, averting his eyes as Bak's hands found his shoulders, pressing down onto them. "I was never sane," he finally offered. "I donned masks until I forgot who I was beneath, creating and recreating myself over and over… in a falsified image, existing for the sake of protecting the Fourteenth."

Momentarily, the hands on his shoulders tightened their grip. Then, all rather abruptly, they fell away altogether and the man to whom they belonged crouched down at the side of the bed upon which he was seated, so that allowing Allen to look down upon him as opposed to up at him.

"Whatever's happened between you and the Fourteenth, be it now or in the past, you're still you, whoever you decide to become or remain as." The expression facing him was a solemn one, but the other's eyes were decidedly determined. "I've met you as Red, and I've met you as Allen, and I've met the Fourteenth, who resides within you. Frankly, I'd be sad to see either of you disappear."

Allen levelled his eyes upon him, giving him a look that initially seemed deadpan but that most certainly contained trace amounts of scepticism as well as a grain of actual incomprehension. "Why?" he finally asked, still deadpan. "Why would the fate of either of us be of any concern to you?"

Bak returned the look, and stubbornly at that. Ultimately, it came to a point when Allen averted his own gaze, looking towards the curtain-covered windows as the other finally got back up, heading off to the chair he had previously vacated and reclaiming it, levelling him with a brief look before averting his gaze all the same. "Who knows?"

For a while, there was silence; tense, but not overly so. Rather, it was a challenge to see which of them would crack first, though they were both stubborn to a fault whenever the situation called for it, and also when it did not.

Ultimately, one might even say that it was all a matter of endurance. However, it escaped neither of them that precious time was being wasted, and ultimately, that kind of thing was…

"I made a deal," Allen finally offered up, reasoning that he might as begin somewhere. "With the Fourteenth."

"I know."

Allen directed his eyes towards Bak, who crossed, uncrossed and then re-crossed his legs, seemingly attempting to find a more comfortable position. "How?"

Truth to be told, the question hardly needed to be asked. After all…

"The Fourteenth told me the gist of it," Bak relayed in return. "Pertaining to you, at least."

"Hoh?" Allen found himself leaning forward a bit. "So?"

Surprisingly enough, Bak had nothing to offer up in response right away. Then again, considering the shrewdness that the other had gradually begun to reveal, perhaps it was more of a tactical move than anything else when it all came down to it or at least so Allen supposed.

"You know it then," he opted instead, reasoning that enough time had been wasted already. "What happened over at the North American Branch? What I did?"

The other's expression, which had already darkened some beforehand, darkened even further, turning grim.

"Tell me," Allen began, testing out the waters. "Tell me about the Artificial Apostle Project."

Bak shot him a look, and then quickly averted his eyes.

Silence fell upon them, and it stubbornly remained, just as Allen kept his eyes levelled on the other just as stubbornly as the other continued to avert their own gaze.

In the end, Allen found that he could not help but ponder the rarity of the sudden role reversal, seeing that he was usually the one averting his eyes when he was at the receiving end of so much undivided attention. Really, it was only fair; that he got to ask the questions for once, confronting others instead of being the one confronted, and requesting another to provide him with answers that his own mind could not supply without additional data.

After all, possibly shady dealings with the Fourteenth or not, Bak Chan was and had always been a highly useful individual; a resourceful one, if nothing else. Had Allen actually gone around gathering members of his little group of misfits on purpose, and had he concerned himself with matters such as usefulness at that, then Bak Chan would have made a good candidate.

Then again…

"It was a secret experiment carried out in the Order, headed by my family, the Chan, and the Epstein family," Bak finally allowed, looking decidedly uncomfortable with the topic of conversation. "It included transplanting the brains of deceased apostles into new bodies, with the hopes of them re-synchronising with Innocence."

Allen said nothing, flexing the fingers of his left hand, which had at long last regained some semblance of functionality, in spite of or perhaps as a result of recent events.

"They were Seconds," Bak went on to say, face darkening once more. "Second generation exorcists, born out of the convoluted research of the Artificial Apostle Project, nine years ago…"

"Kanda Yu." Allen hardly bothered to pause what he was doing, not even bothering to look up as he spoke, albeit quietly. "Alma Karma."

"Alma went on a rampage, killing forty-six people," Bak relayed somewhat detachedly. "My parents included."

Allen dipped his head slightly as if to acknowledge the fact, but made no further comment.

"We made them fight to the death," Bak eventually offered, a pained expression flitting across his face before being hidden beneath a mask and restrained by self-control. "Or so we thought…"

"The fragments of the Egg ‒ the Akuma Plant ‒ ended up in Alma Karma," Allen noted, taking obvious note of how the other's facial expression darkened even further. "Whose cells were then used to create the Thirds."

The other's eyes snapped to him instantly. "By whose command?"

"Some director," Allen relayed in return, watching the other intently as he did so. "French-sounding name, moustache, reminded me of a viper."

The eyes widened slightly before narrowing. "Malcolm."

The name was uttered as though it was a curse, which it probably was, considering everything and considering the way in which frustration now showed clearly on the other's already strained countenance. Allen took note of it, but then diverted his visible attention elsewhere, resting them upon a part of the wall where the wallpaper had begun to peel.

"But it was fortunate," Bak finally said, his voice a tad lighter now, as though he was actively trying to erase the latest topic at hand from his mind altogether. "That you acted when you did."

Allen shot him a brief look before averting his eyes once more, continuing to eye the peeling wallpaper with the vaguest amount of interest. "The Fourteenth needed a way out, and I had a promise to fulfil," he finally offered somewhat dully, not taking his eyes from the wallpaper. "We've established a truce, for now, but it's fragile at best…"

His eyes remained on the peeling wallpaper. ""In time, one of us will have to go. And though I'd hate to admit it, he's got a definite advantage."

"Allen."

He resisted the urge to tear his attention from whence it lingered, keeping his eyes right where they were instead of directing them towards the other, in spite of the sharpness of the other's tone.

"He's not your enemy."

Allen kept his visible attention trained right where it was. "According to him."

"Even though he helped save the others? Not just once, but twice?"

This time around, Allen did tear his eyes away from the wall and direct them towards Bak, who met the steely look with obvious obstinacy. "You honestly think that he did that out of the goodness of his own heart?" Allen finally asked, narrowing his own eyes slightly. "That he didn't have any ulterior motives?"

"Ulterior motives or not, I do believe that he did it for your sake," Bak returned, stubborn to a fault.

"For my continued cooperation, he needs a bargaining chip," Allen snapped right back at him. "Because as a tool, I have yet to outlive my usefulness."

"Allen."

His eyes narrowed even further and he sent an unusually heated glare the other's way before getting to his feet, turning his head and eyes forward and walking up to the part of the wall that had just been subjected to a great deal of scrutiny. "Though he's only been awake for so long, he reads me better than the Earl, who has known me longer…"

"Personally, I think that we're all madmen."Allen reached out, placing his right palm flat against the wall that was now right in front of him, all whilst sensing the other's scrutiny and refusing to visibly acknowledge it all the same. "But we're all madmen who care about our own."

"The Fourteenth had Mana." His hand curled into a fist, still resting against the flat surface, and he closed his eyes. "The Earl has the Noah."

"And you have them," Bak noted, from the sound of it also having risen from his earlier position. "Your pack."

Allen's head tipped forward slightly, and his fingers twitched, curling and uncurling. Then, moments thereafter, he opened his eyes, lifted his head and stepped away from the wall, a hint of a somewhat amused smile creeping onto his features. "I was told that wolves shouldn't befriend sheep," he finally offered up, running a hand through his hair though it did little to straighten out its presently dishevelled state. "But rather than sheep, I'd say that you lot are more like dogs…"

"Dogs?" Bak faithfully echoed, a hint of a smile gracing his features.

"Yes," Allen went on to say, stepping even further away from the wall. "And feral ones at that."

"A tad feral perhaps, but still loyal," Bak easily agreed, folding his arms across his chest. "Although we've been doing rather poorly in the absence of our alpha."

"To the extent of my knowledge, you're all still alive," Allen quipped, remaining where he was. "If you remain in my company for much longer, you might not remain that way for long."

"Oddly enough," Bak went on to say, undaunted. "I do believe that I would rather take my chances with you than with the Order, because unlike them, you don't lie."

"I only lie as much as I omit the truth," Allen responded calmly, similarly undaunted. "As much as I evade it."

"And what is the truth?"

He smiled.

**- o0o -**


	53. The Fifty–Third Testament

_It's been a while; about two months, hasn't it? (It could've been worse; it could've been six months, or a year, or seven thousand of them.)_

_I have to say that I've been waiting for this. I've been waiting for this moment since a shitload of chapters ago. *grins*_

**- o0o -**

**The Fifty****-****Third Testament**

– **Fortissimo****–**

**The Cardinal Sin**

**- o0o -**

"You're not even coming to greet them?"

Allen shrugged his shoulders where he sat; he didn't even look up from the scraps of paper scattered in a circular array on the floor.

There was a brush on his hand, and he used it to put what ought to be the finishing touches on the scraps that had up until then remained unsullied, completing the circle as well as the finishing preparations on the spell work.

It was quite a masterpiece.

Naturally, Bak had played a great part in it; as a consultant if nothing else. Even though the man had apparently, for now, lost his ability to summon his spiritual protector, Bak was and remained the expert as far as a certain type of magic was concerned; not quite Cross Marian's level, admittedly, but with the latter gone and him never actually having been on very good terms with the man to begin with, Allen supposed that he would simply have to make do with what he had at hand.

Besides, with the Fourteenth's continued tolerance of the man, there were few potential drawbacks beyond the fact that neither of them was very likely to make it out alive if the full extent of their cooperation ever came to the knowledge of others, be it the Earl or the Order.

Essentially, this also played its part in his decision not to come along, but only part.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." Allen got back to his feet, straightening. "Even though I have more control now, the Earl will still be able to track me once I leave this place. Besides…"

"Besides?"

He shot the other a look, but offered up no other response, earning himself some degree of exasperation judging from the slight twitch of the other's eyebrow.

"Allen, if it hasn't been revealed already, then it's only a question of time." Bak shook his head. "Because even if that Tyki guy is willing to keep your secrets, there's that other-"

Allen snorted softly in response. "Don't care."

"Allen…"

"Don't. Care."

The admonishing look sent his way sharpened to one of utter exasperation.

"Do you honestly believe that they'll just up and accept that?"

Allen's response consisted of a dismissive wave. He crouched down, eyes never leaving the array on the floor where they continued checking for nonexistent errors.

"Do you honestly believe that _I'll_ be able to accept that?"

This time around, Allen's attention flickered towards him. "It's reality. Accept it."

"The Hell it is."

Allen shot him a look of exasperation, receiving an outright scowl in return.

"Look…" Bak finally relented in obvious frustration. "I do have a basic understanding of what your motives are. But-"

The rest of his statement was cut off as Allen suddenly snapped his head around, staring out into the direction of the window. The silver-grey eyes widened slightly and then narrowed, a flicker of amber entering them, and Allen was back on his feet in the very next moment. "It's here."

Bak ‒ whose mouth had been halfway open even though his brain had already abandoned all thought of continuing the previous argument ‒ abruptly snapped it shut, taking a moment or so to recover before speaking up once more and with urgency; his voice almost a whisper. "How can you tell?"

Allen wasted little time, directing his attention back towards the array on the floor. "My Innocence reacts to it; calls out to it," he offered simply, motioning for Bak to step inside the circle. "It's been hunting me since Edo; perhaps even before that."

Despite having conflicting feelings about the situation at hand, Bak readily obliged, stepping into the recently completed circle and remaining there as Allen crouched down beside it, reaching out to touch one of the interlinking scraps of paper in the array.

"Frankly, the less you know the better," Allen commented, gathering energy and focus.

The _"You'll live a lot longer"_ remained unspoken, but was heavily implied.

"I somehow doubt it," Bak retorted, sounding about as displeased as he looked, watching Allen's hand light up slightly. "Because knowing is half the battle."

Allen had little to say to that, focusing more on summoning a gate within the protected area, which was in turn protected by an even larger barrier, though the latter was highly likely to crumble once it was all over with.

He could feel his eyes shift again, and closed them in order to help retain his focus.

In the moments that followed, the area contained within the circle lit up and then blackened, save for the presence of a number six, which remained illuminated where it lay beneath Bak's feet.

"Come with me," Bak tried, despite supposedly aware of just how futile it was. "We could work together to strengthen the barrier on the Asian Branch's HQ. We could make it your base of operations, and-"

"Not interested," Allen deadpanned, and the gate swallowed the other up quickly enough to save him from any further persistence on the other's part.

Once that was over with, Allen vaguely contemplated sealing the thing before merely closing it and covering it with a rug that had previously been displaced to make way for it, rising to his feet just in time for the barrier to start collapsing around him, albeit subtly at that.

Then again, it hardly mattered now did it? His approximate location had already been discovered and his exact one was about to be discovered lest he did nothing in order to stop it.

Rather, he was honestly surprised that his relative state of peace had lasted so long. He had after all fully expected to have either the Earl or that thing swoop in within twenty-four hours of the impromptu getaway that he had managed, courtesy of the chaos that he had assisted in stirring up over at the North American Branch.

Honestly…

Enough time had been put to waste already, and he was determined not to waste any more of it. Thus, he by no means stayed around long enough to lay eyes on his pursuer; knowing it was out there was enough, for now.

Summoning another gate to him and without protections in place at that would have been stupid, normally. After all, doing so would give rise to a surge of energy which would no doubt be picked up, if not by the Noah or by the Earl himself, then by the man's hands and feet.

Whether the aforementioned hands and feet and ears and eyes were of the humanoid kind, the Noah kind or the akuma kind mattered little in general; summoning a gate would act as a beacon to all of them, and that was just what he intended.

He jumped, landing in a narrow alleyway about five blocks away from his previous location; close enough to dissuade any thoughts of going after any of the others but far enough to grant him a bit of a head start.

The landing jarred plenty of his wounds, and he winced slightly as he straightened from his crouch, making sure that his body ‒ albeit battered ‒ was still useful.

It was, and the pain wasn't all that bad either, comparatively speaking.

In the end, it was true, as Bak had said; the others would far more likely than not have a hard time accepting his decisions, be they old or fairly recent ones. And in the end, the path that Bak had suggested had also seemed a viable one.

However, it would only have been able to delay the inevitable, seeing that neither the Earl nor the Order was highly likely to take that kind of thing sitting down.

Besides, Allen found that he would rather not have any of them get involved with what was currently underfoot; with his hidden pursuer's seeming ability to influence Innocence and who knew what else, he would rather not give it any more potential pawns to play with if he could avoid it.

Pawns.

His stomach churned with disgust; his chest as well.

He felt like he was going to be sick, but steeled himself even as his body was rocked by an involuntary shiver as the presence from earlier once again entered his range.

Shortly thereafter, so did several others.

Eyes screwed shut, he drew a shuddering breath and then released it, repeating the procedure until he felt the nausea retreat.

His heart rate slowed a bit as well, but remained slightly elevated, partially due to the strain of previous events and partially in an almost morbid anticipation of what was about to take place.

There were after all plenty of things that could go wrong. Rather, he did find it somewhat difficult to imagine probable scenarios in which nothing did.

Either way, it was all the same.

Either way, if there was even a way back from the events that would no doubt follow, then Allen figured that it would hardly be an easy one.

Then again, in his case, back was a road less travelled; never even. To move forward had always been his forte, and slight drawbacks aside, it seemed to be the winning concept in the longer term.

If the others knew what was best for them, they would have adopted a similar philosophy.

However, familiar as well as experienced as he was with the penchant for sentimentality possessed by humankind, it went without saying that they would probably have trouble abstaining from it.

Hell, even the Noah Family ‒ however highly they might think of themselves ‒ seemed decidedly prone to fall victim to it.

And in the end, he too was no exception.

Directing his eyes skywards, he took in the grey sky hanging above him, covered in layers of virtually impenetrable clouds through which the sun was just an illuminated spot amongst a sea of sameness.

The air lay still, and the sky was grey, bearing the promise of eventual rain.

Allen wondered whether or not he would still be around to see it.

**- o0o -**

"_Say, Allen…"_

**- o0o -**

"_You fell in love with humanity, didn't you?"_

**- o0o -**

He smiled.

In the end, even though he had striven to remain uninvolved and to remain independent, he too had fallen into the trap that was an inescapable part of the human nature; the desire to be someone to someone; to be bonded to someone or something beyond oneself; to satisfy a need for purpose.

It was a nature shared with other pack animals, and some other animals as well, or so Allen supposed.

Pack mentality seemed awfully prevalent in either case, and Allen figured that he would soon be seeing how it manifested in the case of the Noah family, with more or less damning results for his own part.

**- o0o -**

"_Say, Allen…"_

**- o0o -**

"_Aren't you sad?"_

**- o0o -**

There was little to grieve. Rather, he was happy to be given the opportunity, and in a less than stellar condition or not, he was more than ready enough to take it.

He stepped out from the alleyway and into the main street, coming to a stop only when he reached the plaza. There, he sat down on the edge of the small fountain, making it his vantage point from which he kept a keen eye on the people milling about in the vicinity, and particularly on those entering it.

Soon, his eyes fell upon a man who had just entered the plaza and then proceeded to walk across it at a measured pace.

The hair was light, particularly when seen together with the black cassock that along with the rosary around their neck indicated the wearer's association to the church.

Before the eyes were round lenses, connected to what even from a distance looked like fairly solid frames.

An open but long light-coloured cloak completed the image along with a seemingly amiable and kind expression that would have fooled most into trusting the man without much thought, but had Allen narrow his eyes at the obvious deception, because even without a small cue from his Innocence, he knew perfectly well that the man before him ‒ who was not really a man ‒ was dangerous.

Even so, he allowed the man to get within a five-metre radius of him without moving, and thankfully, the man-that-was-not-a-man came to a stop about a metre and a half from him; it was a much shorter distance than he would have liked, but Allen reasoned that he would simply have to work with what he had as opposed to what he had not.

"Hello, Allen." The other's voice ‒ amiable as it was ‒ made his skin crawl, and he resisted the urge to remove himself from the other's immediate presence, because it had to be done; it was well past time to stop running. "I've come for you."

"I've been waiting," Allen deadpanned, regarding the other coldly as he was regarded equally coldly in return, seeing that the other's friendly expression by no means reached their eyes to any degree that would have fooled anyone with a functioning pair of eyes.

"Such a troublesome child, never knowing what's best for you," the other commented in return, condescending and both in word and in manner bearing a most ironical resemblance to the Earl at that very moment. "You connected deeply with your Innocence. However, instead of allowing it to connect fully with your psyche and merging with it, you dissociated from it; all my hard work, rendered useless…"

"What did you do to my body, _Apocryphos_?" Allen snapped in response, the name sliding from his tongue unfamiliar to him but definitely the correct one once it had been uttered out loud.

"Your body, Allen?" Apocryphos continued to regard him coldly, condescendingly.

This time around, Allen stood up, but he once again withstood the instincts that screamed for him to run-run-run. "The Artificial Apostles Project," he began, keeping his voice dull even though he was positively seething inside. "Laboratory six; the sealed away corpses of former exorcists; original bodies; the Seconds... Now where is it? Where is my original body?"

Something akin to a true smile graced the other's face. It proved truly repulsive to look at.

"I honestly don't know what the Hell you sought to accomplish; what you seek to accomplish," Allen snapped. "And even if this body was once the product of your perversion, it's mine now, to use and dispose of however I like. And I'd rather die than become any pawn of yours."

The repulsive smile remained; widening even. "Speaking so easily of dying, knowing well that we can't have you dying just yet…"

"_We?"_ Allen questioned out loud before he was able to stop himself, and he cringed as his Innocence suddenly flared, apparently trying to invocate without his consent.

"The Heart," Apocryphos offered up in response, taking a step closer. "It is worried for you…"

More out of instinct than out of any conscious act of will, Allen took a step backward.

"But you don't need to worry…"

Another step forward preceded another step back.

"You do not need to be afraid, Allen."

A hand was reached out towards him, fingers splayed.

Allen stubbornly stood his ground, even though it definitely felt as though something was crawling around beneath his skin. "That didn't work out the last time around, did it?" he snapped, on the verge of snarling. "What makes you think that I'd fall for it now?"

The hand was withdrawn slightly. "You intend to fight me then, Allen?"

He didn't feel the need to put his answer into words, smirking.

Apparently, the message was received, because in the moment that followed, the previously withdrawn hand lashed out like a serpent going in for the kill.

As anticipated beforehand, he wasn't quick enough to dodge it completely, and non-human fingertips grazed his left wrist, making contact with his barely restrained Innocence which was then no longer restrained and instead burst out in a wing-like shape, primarily from his shoulder area.

Mildly put, it was sheer agony. He crumbled to his knees and it took a great deal of effort on his part not to fall any further and to lift his head to glare up at the foe that now towered over him.

"Worry not, child." Apocryphos reached a hand out towards him once more, fingers still splaying although not quite as much as previously. "You're just about to become one with me."

Truthfully, Allen wanted to tear his goddamned face off. However, even in the quite literal face of danger, he allowed vicious anger to give way for a condescending smirk. "Seriously gross," he managed to grit out before the pain temporarily made his vision go white.

"Definitely."

And with that, two shots rang out and he crumbled, even though he wasn't the one hit.

He made a swift recovery however, rising unsteadily to his feet whilst blinking repeatedly, seeing that his vision had yet to clear.

Someone slipped their hand into his. Quietly comforted, he closed his eyes.

When he opened them, Road was standing by his side, but she wasn't looking at him but rather ahead and the look in her eyes was decidedly hostile.

"It's been a while." Her amber-coloured eyes narrowed, and her pupils along with them. "About seven thousand years, hasn't it?"

**- o0o -**


End file.
